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THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 


THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

A  GUIDE  TO  ITS  STUDY  AND 
APPRECIATION 

BY 

ROBERT  KILBURN  ROOT 

Professor  of  English  in  Princeton  University 

REVISED  EDITION 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON      NEW  YORK      CHICAGO      SAN   FRANCISCO 


COPYRIGHT,  1922, 

By  Robert  Kilburn  Root 

Copyright,  1906,  by  Robert  Kilburn  Root 

ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 


T£be  SRtotrsftie  Jlrcss 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
fRlNTED  IN  THE  U  .  S  .  A 


PREFACE 

DURING  the  last  twenty  years,  the  poetry  of  Chaucer 
has  been  attaining  an  ever  increasing  popularity.  Not 
only  in  our  colleges  and  universities,  but  among  the 
lovers  of  good  literature  at  large,  the  discovery  has 
been  made  that  the  difficulty  of  Chaucer's  language  is 
by  no  means  so  great  as  at  first  appears,  and  that  what- 
ever difficulty  there  may  be  is  richly  compensated  by 
the  delights  which  his  poetry  has  to  offer.  Meanwhile 
the  scholars  of  Europe  and  America  have  been  busy 
at  the  task  of  explaining  what  needs  explanation,  of 
investigating  the  problems  of  Chaucer's  sources,  and 
of  determining  the  order  in  which  his  works  were  com- 
posed. It  is  the  purpose  of  the  present  volume  to  ren- 
der accessible  to  readers  of  Chaucer  the  fruits  of  these 
investigations,  in  so  far  as  they  conduce  to  a  fuller 
appreciation  of  the  poet  and  his  work.  For  the  benefit 
of  those  who  wish  to  go  more  deeply  into  the  subject, 
rather  copious  bibliographical  references  are  given  in 
the  footnotes.  Of  Chaucer's  biography  we  know  little 
that  is  really  significant ;  and  that  little  has  been  fre- 
quently retold.  It  has,  therefore,  seemed  better  to  omit 
any  connected  account  of  Chaucer's  life,  and  to  give  in 
the  discussion  of  the  individual  poems  such  biographi- 
cal details  as  serve  to  illuminate  them. 

From  the  very  nature  of  his  task,  the  author's  obli- 
gations are  manifold.  From  Tyrwhitt  down,  there  is 
hardly  a  Chaucerian  scholar  by  whose  labors  he  has 
not  profited,  as  a  glance  at  the  footnotes  will  show. 
To  Professor  Ten  Brink,  to  Professor  Lounsbury,  to 


vi  PREFACE 

Professor  Skeat,  and  to  Dr.  Furnivall  and  his  collabo- 
rators in  the  work  of  the  Chaucer  Society,  his  debt  is 
particularly  large.  In  making  quotations  and  citations, 
Skeat's  Student's  Chaucer  has  been  used ;  and  the 
order  in  which  the  several  works  of  the  poet  are  taken 
up  is,  with  one  slight  exception,  that  in  which  they  are 
there  printed.  This  has  seemed,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
convenient  order ;  but  the  reader  may  take  the  chap- 
ters in  any  order  he  pleases.  To  my  friends,  Professor 
Albert  S.  Cook  of  Yale  University  and  Professor 
Charles  G.  Osgood  of  Princeton  University,  I  am 
indebted  for  much  valuable  criticism. 

E.  K.  R. 

PBINCKTON  UNIVERSITY 
May  25, 1906. 


PREFACE  TO  REVISED  EDITION 

IT  is  now  fifteen  years  since  this  book  was  first  published, 
and  these  years  have  been  extraordinarily  fruitful  of 
Chaucerian  study.  Important  contributions  have  been 
made  to  our  knowledge  of  Chaucer  and  of  his  relations 
to  the  literature  and  prevalent  ideas  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
contributions  which,  it  is  pleasant  to  note,  have  been  in 
large  measure  the  work  of  American  scholars.  To  Profes- 
sor Kittredge  and  Professor  Lowes  of  Harvard  and  to 
Professor  Tatlock  of  Leland  Stanford  the  debt  of  Chau- 
cer-lovers is,  and  will  remain,  a  large  one.  In  some  cases 
this  new  knowledge  has  led  to  a  considerable  revision  of 
our  earlier  understanding  of  the  essential  purport  of 
Chaucer's  poetry.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  work 
of  Chaucer's  middle  period  —  the  House  of  Fame,  Troi- 
lus,  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  the  translation  of  Boe- 
thius. 

It  was  the  original  purpose  of  this  book  to  render  ac- 
cessible to  readers  of  Chaucer  the  fruits  of  scholarly 
investigation  in  so  far  as  they  conduce  to  a  fuller  ap- 
preciation of  the  poet  and  his  work.  If  it  is  to  continue 
to  render  this  service,  a  thorough  revision  is  now  neces- 
sary. Such  a  revision  is  presented  in  the  present  volume. 
Where  the  new  information  is  so  fundamental  that  it 
essentially  alters  an  earlier  interpretation  of  the  facts, 
the  passage  concerned  has  been  rewritten,  and  new  pages 
substituted  for  the  old;  where  it  is  rather  in  the  nature 
of  additional  light,  which  clarifies  but  does  not  alter, 
the  new  information  is  given  in  an  appendix  of  'Notes 
and  Revisions'  at  the  end  of  the  volume.  Chapters  VI 


viii          PREFACE  TO  REVISED  EDITION 

and  VII,  which  deal  with  Troilus  and  the  House  of  Fame, 
have  been  rewritten  in  their  entirety.  In  addition,  the 
pages  numbered  ix,  x,  18,  40,  84,  85,  140-144,  167,  168, 
184,  238-240,  291,  292  have  been  rewritten  and  substi- 
tuted for  the  original  pages.  These  changes  have  made 
necessary  a  new  index;  but  the  pagination  of  the  volume 
has  been  so  little  disturbed  that  most  references  to  the 
original  edition  will  apply  also  to  this.  More  than  one 
quarter  of  the  present  volume  is,  therefore,  new.  It  is 
hoped  that  with  these  revisions  the  book  may  continue 
to  fill  the  place  which  has  been  accorded  to  it  in  the  past. 
With  it  and  with  Skeat's  Student's  Chaucer,  or  better 
with  Professor  F.  N.  Robinson's  edition  soon  to  be  pub- 
lished in  the  Cambridge  Poets  Series,  the  student  or  the 
general  reader  will  have  in  his  possession  all  that  is  essen- 
tial to  an  understanding  and  appreciation  of  Chaucer's 
poetry. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  record  my  gratitude  to  my  friend, 
Professor  Gordon  Hall  Gerould,  for  his  help  and  counsel 
in  the  preparation  of  this  edition. 

R.  K.  R. 

PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY, 
October,  1921. 


WORKS 


A  CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OP 
CHAUCER'S  LIFE  AND  WORKS 

(The  few  significant  facts  of  Chaucer's  life  given  below  rest  on  documen- 
tary evidence,  and  may,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  certain.  The  chronology 
of  his  works  is  far  from  certain;  but  the  dates  here  given  may  be  regarded  aa 
approximately  correct.) 

LIFE 

1340  Chaucer  born  in  London. 
His  father,  John  Chaucer, 
was  a  vintner,  and  was  in 
some  way  connected  with 
the  court  of  Edward  III. 
(The  date,  1340,  is  conjec- 
tural.) 

1357  Attached,  as  a  page  (?),  to 
the  household  of  Elizabeth, 
Duchess  of  Clarence. 

1359  Serves  in  the  English  army 
in  France,  and  taken  pris- 
oner by  the  French. 

1367  Granted  a  life  pension  for 
his  services  as  valet  in  the 
king's  household. 


1372-73  First  diplomatic  mission 
to  Italy. 

1374  Appointed  Comptroller  of 
the  customs  and  subsidy  of 
wools,  skins,  and  leather  for 
the  port  of  London.  (We 
know  that  in  this  year  the 
poet  was  already  married.) 
Leased  a  dwelling  over  the 
gate  of  Aldgate  in  London. 

1377  Diplomatic      missions      in 
Flanders  and  France. 

1378  Second  journey  to  Italy  in 
the  king's  service. 

1382  Appointed  Comptroller  of 
the  petty  customs.  (This 
office  he  held  in  addition  to 
his  earlier  office  in  the  cus- 
toms.) 


To  this  general  period  may  be 
assigned  the  Romaunt  of  the 
Rose,  and  the '  balades,  roundels, 
virelayes,'  referred  to  in  the  Pro- 
logue to  the  Legend  of  Good  Wo- 


1369  The  Book  of  the  Duchest. 


To  the  period  from  1374  to  1379 
may  probably  be  assigned  the 
House  of  Fame,  and  the  poems 
later  utilized  as  the  Monk's  Tale 
and  the  Second  Nun's  Tale  of 
St.  Cecilia. 


In  the  six  years  from  1380  to 
1385  we  may  place  the  transla- 
tion of  Boethius,  Troilus  and 
Criseyde  (not  earlier  than  1381), 
the  Parliament  of  Fowls  (1382?) 
and  the  story  of  Palamon  and 
Arcite,  known  as  the  Knight's 
Tale,  (shortly  before  1385?). 


A  CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY 


1385  Granted  permission  to  exer- 
cise his  office  as  comptroller 
through  a  permanent  dep- 
uty. 

Appointed  Justice  of  Peace 
for  the  county  of  Kent. 

1386  Member  of  Parliament  for 
Kent.  Gives  up  his  London 
house  (and  resides  at  Green- 
wich?). Deprived  (by  a  hos- 
tile faction  at  court?)  of  his 
offices  in  the  customs. 

1387  Death  of  Chaucer's  wife. 

1389  Appointed     Clerk    of    the 
King's  Works  at  Westmin- 
ster. 

1390  Clerk  of  the  King's  Works 
at  Windsor,  and  member  of 
a  commission  to  repair  the 
banks  of  the  Thames  be- 
tween Woolwich  and  Green- 
wich. 


1394  Granted  an  additional  pen- 
sion of  20  I.  a  year.  (The 
poet  seems,  however,  to 
have  been  in  financial  diffi- 
culty.) 

1399  On  the  accession  of  Henry 
IV,  Chaucer's  pension  again 
increased.      He     leases     a 
house  in  Westminster. 

1400  Chaucer's  death. 


1385-86  The  Legend  of  Good  Wo- 
men. 


Soon  after  1386  were  begun  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  on  which  the 
poet  probably  worked  intermit- 
tently till  his  death.  Groups  D, 
E,  and  F,  which  contain  the 
discussion  of  marriage,  seem  to 
have  been  written  later  than 
1393. 

1391  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe. 
1393  Envoy  to  Scogan. 

1394-95  Revised  form  ('A'  text) 
of  Prologue  to  Legend  of 
Good  Women. 

1396-97  Envoy  to  Bukton. 
1399        To  his  Empty  Purse. 


CONTENTS 

I.  CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND 1 

II.   CHAUCER 14 

III.  THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 45 

IV.  THE  MINOR  POEMS 67 

V.  BOETHIUS  AND  THE  ASTROLABE    .     .    .     .80 

VI.  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE        ...        *        •        87 

VII.  THE  HOUSE  OF  FAME 128 

VIII.  THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN   ....      136 

IX.  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUP  A       ...  161 

X.  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUP  B    .        .        .181 

XI.  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUPS  C  AND  D         .  219 

XII.  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUPS  E,  F,  G,  H,  I  .      263 

APPENDIX.  THE  STUDY  OF  CHAUCEB      .        .        .  291 

NOTES  AND  REVISIONS  .       .       •       •  'y  .       .     294 

INDEX .  301 


THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

CHAPTER  I 
CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND 

IT  is  five  hundred  years  and  more  since  Geoffrey 
Chaucer  was  '  nayled  in  his  cheste,'  and  laid  in  what 
is  now  known  as  the  Poets'  Corner  of  Westminster 
Abbey.  Many  things  have  happened  since  that  day : 
a  new  half -world  has  been  discovered ;  mighty  nations 
have  had  their  birth  ;  there  have  been  wars  and  revolu- 
tions ;  the  great  world  of  science  has  been  opened  up, 
changing  deeply  our  thoughts  and  beliefs,  altering  rad- 
ically the  conditions  of  our  industrial  and  social  life ; 
one  poet  greater  than  Chaucer  has  arisen  to  grace  our 
English  tongue.  Chaucer  would  have  been  intensely 
interested  in  all  these  things,  could  he  have  known 
them ;  but  for  him  they  did  not  exist.  If  we  are  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  his  poetry,  we  must  forget  for 
the  time  being  the  present-day  world,  and  all  that  has 
happened  in  five  hundred  years,  and  live  again  in  a 
day  long  dead.  We  must,  with  William  Morris,  — 

Forget  six  counties  overhung  with  smoke, 
Forget  the  snorting  steam  and  piston  stroke, 
Forget  the  spreading  of  the  hideous  town  ; 
Think  rather  of  the  pack-horse  on  the  down, 
And  dream  of  London,  small,  and  white,  and  clean, 
The  clear  Thames  bordered  by  its  gardens  green. 

When  this  leap  into  the  dark  backward  and  abysm 
of  time  has  been  accomplished,  many  of  the  comforts 


2  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

and  luxuries  of  modern  life  will  be  found  missing: 
houses  are  less  comfortable ;  traveling  is  a  slow  and 
dangerous  process ;  there  are  no  newspapers,  no  tele- 
phones, no  tea,  coffee,  or  tobacco.  Yet  I  fancy  that 
these  things  are  not  so  indispensable  as  our  modern 
world  thinks.  For  those  of  artistic  tastes  there  is  rich 
compensation  in  the  external  beauty  of  the  life  around. 
Nearly  all  the  buildings  of  modern  'London  which  are 
really  works  of  art  were  standing  in  Chaucer's  day ; 
many  buildings  of  equal  beauty  were  standing  then 
which  have  since  perished.  In  place  of  the  dingy, 
ugly,  monotonous  buildings  which  now  line  the  streets 
of  London  town,  stood  picturesque  houses  of  half-tim- 
ber, decorated  in  bright  colors.  The  throngs  of  people 
passing  through  the  streets  must  have  been  a  constant 
source  of  interest  and  pleasure  ;  men  did  not  then  try 
to  efface  themselves  by  sober  suits  of  black  or  gray. 
My  lord  passes  by  resplendent  in  bright  colored  silks 
and  velvets,  his  retainers  clothed  in  their  distinguish- 
ing livery ;  every  trade  has  its  peculiar  costume.  There 
are  processions  and  pageants,  with  banners  and  waving 
plumes.  Inside  the  houses  one  finds  quaintly  carved 
furniture  and  splendid  pictured  tapestries.  There  is 
a  darker  side  to  this  picture,  which  we  must  also  see 
before  we  are  done ;  but  on  the  surface  it  is  a  gay  and 
beautiful  life  that  we  have  entered.  This  is  indeed 
*  merry  England.' 

There  are  many  intellectual  interests  as  well.  The 
right  of  the  people  to  govern  themselves  in  Parliament 
is  being  fought  out.  The  English  Church  is  trying  to 
limit  the  usurpations  of  the  papal  power ;  Wiclif  and 
his  poor  preachers  are  sowing  the  seeds  of  the  English 
Reformation.  English  commerce  is  extending  itself. 
There  is  exciting  news  of  the  war  with  France. 

Interesting  from  many  varied  aspects,  the  fourteenth 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  3 

century  is  of  particular  significance  to  the  student  of 
literature  and  culture,  because  in  it  the  movement  of 
the  Renaissance  first  assumed  definite  form,  and  our 
modern  world  began.  But  if  the  modern  world  had 
begun  to  assert  itself,  the  mediaeval  world  had  by  no 
means  passed  away.  Side  by  side  they  stood,  the  old 
and  the  new,  essentially  hostile  to  each  other,  yet 
blended  and  intermingled  through  the  whole  range  of 
society,  often  in  most  incongruous  fashion.  Because 
of  their  coexistence  it  is  easy  to  compare  and  contrast 
them. 

Any  attempt  at  an  inclusive  definition  of  mediaeval- 
ism  and  of  the  Renaissance  is  a  perilous,  perhaps  an 
impossible,  undertaking;  but  it  is  not  so  difficult  to 
differentiate  the  two  in  their  main  characteristics  and 
tendencies,  always  remembering  that  we  have  to  do  not 
so  much  with  two  periods  of  history  as  with  two  oppos- 
ing attitudes  of  mind,  two  habits  of  thought,  which 
have  always  existed  side  by  side,  with  now  one,  now  the 
other,  in  the  ascendant.  The  fundamental  distinction, 
I  think,  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  mediaeval  mind  has  its 
gaze  fixed  primarily  on  the  spiritual  and  abstract,  that 
of  the  Renaissance  on  the  sensuous  and  concrete.  '  Me- 
diaevalism  proclaims  that  the  eternal  things  of  the  spirit 
are  alone  worth  while ;  the  Renaissance  declares  that 
a  man's  life  consists,  if  not  in  the  abundance  of  the 
things  he  possesses,  at  any  rate  in  the  abundance  and 
variety  of  the  sensations  he  enjoys.'  Though  it  is  a  char- 
acteristic of  the  greatest  minds  that  they  belong  to  no 
party,  Dante  and  Shakespeare  may  be  taken  to  repre- 
sent, in  their  dominant  tendencies,  the  two  habits  of 
thought.  In  their  power  of  poetic  insight  and  obser- 
vation the  two  poets  are  nearly  equal ;  but  Dante, 
following  the  natural  bent  of  his  spirit,  portrayed  the 
world  in  terms  of  the  abstract,  through  the  language  of 


4  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

symbols ;  his  great  poem  is  a  vision,  and  the  person- 
ages of  his  drama  are  disembodied  souls  dwelling  in  a 
realm  of  spirit ;  while  Shakespeare  shows  us  men  and 
women  as  concrete  individuals,  living  and  moving  in  an 
actual,  material  world. 

As  a  direct  result  of  this  basic  distinction,  we  pass 
to  another  which  is  of  almost  equal  significance.  In  its 
dealings  with  society  and  with  humanity  in  general, 
the  mediaeval  tends  towards  communism,  the  Renais- 
sance towards  individualism ;  for  the  individual  is  a 
concrete  fact,  the  community  is  an  abstract  ideal.  To 
the  mediaeval  mind,  man  is  a  member  of  a  great  spir- 
itual family,  the  body  of  Christ,  the  Church  catholic 
and  universal.  His  true  happiness,  temporal  and  eter- 
nal, is  inseparable  from  the  welfare  of  humanity  as  a 
whole.  *  For  none  of  us  liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man 
dieth  to  himself.'  Thus  Dante,  in  contrasting  spiritual 
and  material  benefits,  explains  that  with  material  things 
the  larger  the  number  who  share  in  a  benefit,  the 
smaller  is  the  share  of  each ;  while  with  spiritual  bless- 
ings, in  particular  the  joys  of  Paradise,  the  larger  the 
number  of  souls  who  share,  the  greater  is  the  portion 
of  each.  To  the  mind  of  the  Renaissance,  then,  bent  011 
the  sensuous  and  material,  the  individual  man,  his  per- 
sonal strivings  and  accomplishment,  becomes  the  main 
interest.  We  have  the  thirst  for  personal  fame,  as 
exemplified  in  the  vanity  of  a  Petrarch,  replacing  the 
anonymous  zeal  of  the  cathedral-builders.  We  have 
the  national  tendency,  the  idea  of  patriotism,  as  opposed 
to  the  mediaeval  conception  of  a  united  Christendom, 
a  Holy  Roman  Empire.  We  have  a  splitting  up  of  the 
social  body  into  small  groups  of  individuals,  but  slightly 
interested  in  one  another's  welfare.  And  as  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  whole  community  begins  to  fade,  art 
and  literature  become  limited  in  their  appeal,  no  longer 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  5 

speaking  to  the  whole  people,  but  becoming  the  exclu- 
sive possession  of  the  educated  favored  classes,  a  tend- 
ency which  is  clearly  evident  in  Petrarch's  scorn  for 
compositions  in  the  vernacular. 

In  the  realm  of  thought,  a  precisely  similar  develop- 
ment takes  place  :  the  age  of  faith  gives  way  to  the  age 
of  reason.  *  Faith  is  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen,' 
that  is,  of  the  invisible  world,  the  spiritual.  Reason, 
of  necessity,  confines  itself  mainly  to  things  which  can 
be  seen  and  handled;  in  a  word,  to  the  sensuous  and 
material.  Or,  again,  to  relate  this  development  to 
that  suggested  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  faith,  or 
authority,  rests  on  a  communistic  basis.  A  belief  in  the 
benevolence  of  God,  or  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  is 
based,  apart  from  any  supernatural  revelation,  on  the 
universality  of  man's  instinct  that  these  facts  are  so. 
This  universal  instinct  gains  definiteness  in  the  body 
of  dogma  held  and  taught  consistently  by  the  Church, 
an  essentially  communistic  organization.  According  to 
the  mediaeval  idea,  the  individual  man  has  literally  no 
right  to  think  for  himself ;  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment, which  lies  at  the  very  foundation  of  Protestant- 
ism, is  nothing  but  a  corollary  of  the  individualism  of 
the  Renaissance. 

In  the  domain  of  religion  and  conduct  this  '  right 
of  private  judgment '  has  had  a  curious  twofold  devel- 
opment. Among  the  more  austere  races  of  the  north 
it  gave  rise  to  the  Protestant  Reformation,  and,  car- 
ried out  to  its  logical  conclusion,  to  that '  Protestantism 
of  the  Protestant  religion '  which  we  call  Puritanism. 
Protestantism  is  essentially  the  religion  of  the  individ- 
ual. This  may  be  proved  first  of  all  by  its  tendency 
to  break  up  into  sects ;  it  is  in  its  very  nature  centri- 
fugal. The  Protestant,  again,  is  largely  concerned  with 
what  he  calls  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul,  and  in  the 


6  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

process  of  achieving  this  he  feels  no  need  of  priestly 
mediation ;  he  insists,  rather,  on  his  direct  and  personal 
relation  to  the  Deity.  It  is  individualism  in  religion. 
The  Protestant  proceeds  to  create  for  himself,  and  with 
delightful  inconsistency  attempts  to  force  upon  oth- 
ers, a  moral  code  of  his  own,  harsh  and  unlovely,  of 
which  the  Puritan  observance  of  the  Sabbath  is  a  good 
example.  At  the  opposite  extreme  from  Puritanism  is 
the  other  development  of  the  Renaissance  spirit,  most 
conspicuous  among  the  more  passionate  peoples  of  the 
south,  in  which  men  used  their  right  of  private  judg- 
ment to  overthrow  all  religion  and  morality.  Morality 
conveniently  divides  itself  into  duty  towards  God  and 
duty  towards  one's  neighbor.  If  one  doubts  the  exist- 
ence of  God,  he  disposes  easily  of  one  half  of  his  duty ; 
if  he  exalts  his  individual  well-being  at  the  expense  of 
the  common  good  of  society,  his  duty  towards  his  neigh- 
bor troubles  him  but  little.  And  so  we  find  in  the 
Italian  Renaissance  a  strong  tendency  towards  irreligion 
and  immorality,  which  may  express  itself  in  the  moral 
laxity  and  religious  indifference  of  a  Boccaccio,  or  in  the 
diabolic  malignity  of  a  Caesar  Borgia  or  a  Catherine  de 
Medici. 

If,  now,  we  try  to  balance  up  the  profit  and  loss  to  civ- 
ilization and  culture  which  have  ensued  on  the  triumph 
of  that  Renaissance  spirit,  which  is  still  dominant  at 
the  present  day,  we  shall  find  the  account  a  complicated 
one.  To  the  heightened  interest  in  material  and  sen- 
suous things,  and  to  the  activity  of  the  individual  mind, 
we  owe,  of  course,  the  whole  of  our  modern  science  ;  to 
the  same  causes  we  owe  a  great  part  of  our  noblest 
literature  and  art,  our  Michael  Angelo  and  our  Shake- 
speare. This  is  no  mean  debt.  Yet  we  must  remem- 
ber that  this  very  art  which  we  prize  is  a  possession  of 
only  the  few ;  the  '  plain  man '  has  no  portion  in  it.  Of 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  7 

what  sort  are  the  books  and  pictures  which  we  produce 
for  him  ?  Art  has  been  divorced  from  daily  life.  If  we 
have  greater  poems  and  finer  pictures  than  the  Middle 
Ages  knew,  what  of  our  carpets,  our  hangings,  our  fur- 
niture, our  buildings,  the  dishes  from  which  we  eat? 
Then,  too,  we  have  to  charge  up  against  the  Renais- 
sance our  complexity  of  life,  our  unsettled  doubts,  our 
ambitions  and  discontents.  And,  lastly,  there  is  the 
hideous  fact  that  our  boasted  civilization  is  largely 
a  civilization  of  materialism,  of  selfishness  and  legal- 
ized  greed.  After  studying  the  past  and  studying  the 
present,  we  must  strive  to  see  both  the  benefits  and 
the  limitations  which  these  two  great  world-tendencies 
have  to  offer,  and,  holding  narrowly  to  neither,  must  so 
adjust  and  balance  the  two  that  we  may  attain  to  that 
golden  mean  which  shall  usher  in  the  golden  world. 

In  the  light  of  these  distinctions  between  mediaevalism 
and  the  Renaissance,  it  will  be  well  to  pass  in  hasty 
review  the  great  movements  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
political,  social,  religious,  and  literary,  in  order  to  see 
more  clearly  in  what  sort  of  a  world  Chaucer  lived 
and  worked. 

Politically,  the  most  significant  movement,  in  Eng- 
land at  least,  is  the  trend  towards  national  consciousness. 
Henry  II,  on  his  accession  to  the  throne  of  England 
in  1154,  controlled  more  than  half  of  what  is  now 
France.  Normandy  he  inherited  from  the  Conqueror, 
Anjou  from  his  father,  Geoffrey;  Aquitaine  was  his 
through  the  right  of  Eleanor  his  queen.  Normandy  and 
Anjou  had  been  lost  in  the  reign  of  King  John  (1199— 
1216)  ;  but  Aquitaine  was  still  a  possession  of  the 
English  crown  when  Edward  III  came  to  the  throne 
in  1327.  The  national  tendency,  asserting  itself  in 
France,  led  the  French  king  to  the  endeavor  to  bring 
all  Frenchmen  under  his  own  control;  and  this  was 


8  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  ultimate  cause  of  the  Hundred  Years'  War,  which 
began  in  1337.  The  long  continued  war  served  to 
strengthen  immeasurably  in  each  country  the  bud- 
ding instinct  of  patriotism.  Men  began  to  feel  that 
they  were  Englishmen  or  Frenchmen;  and  the  idea 
of  a  Holy  Roman  Empire  faded  gradually  from  their 
thoughts. 

The  battle  of  Crecy  (1346)  and  of  Poitiers  (1356) 
had  not  only  fanned  the  flame  of  patriotism,  but,  won 
as  they  were  by  the  archery  of  English  yeomen,  they 
increased  immensely  the  importance  of  the  middle 
classes,  and  hastened  the  fall  of  feudalism.  With  this 
increased  importance  of  the  commoners  went  a  corre- 
sponding increase  in  the  power  of  Parliament,  which 
reached  its  flood  tide  in  the  '  Good  Parliament '  of  1376. 
It  is  in  this  period  that  we  first  find  clearly  asserted 
the  right  of  Parliament  to  vote  taxes,  on  which  as  a 
corner-stone  has  since  been  built  the  edifice  of  English 
liberty. 

This  democratic  tendency  in  English  politics  is  even 
more  plainly  marked  in  the  social  and  industrial  de- 
velopment of  the  fourteenth  century.  With  the  rapid 
growth  of  commerce  and  manufacture,  and  the  conse- 
quently increased  importance  of  the  towns,  there  arose 
a  large  and  prosperous  bourgeois  class,  which,  being 
as  it  was  entirely  without  the  pale  of  the  feudal  sys- 
tem, hastened  its  disintegration.  For  a  discontented 
serf  could  become  a  freeman  by  establishing  a  legal 
residence  in  one  of  the  towns ;  and  the  vassal  of  higher 
station  found  himself  overtopped  in  wealth,  and  conse- 
quently in  influence,  by  the  prosperous  burgher.  The 
emancipation  of  the  laboring  class  from  the  bonds  of 
serfdom  was  furthered  by  the  great  plague  which  swept 
over  England,  as  over  the  rest  of  Europe,  in  1348  and 
1349.  With  half  the  population  wiped  out,  the  landown- 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  9 

ers  found  themselves  with  only  half  the  former  supply 
of  labor,  and  only  half  the  demand  for  their  products. 
The  price  of  labor  rose,  and  the  price  of  bread  fell. 
The  old  feudal  obligation  of  the  serf  to  labor  a  certain 
number  of  days  on  his  master's  land  had  already,  in 
large  measure,  been  commuted  into  a  money  rent,  and 
the  laborers  were  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  demand  higher  wages  for  their  labor. 
The  attempts  to  control  the  price  of  labor  by  legislation 
had  little  effect  save  to  irritate  the  laborers,  an  irrita- 
tion which  reached  its  climax  in  the  peasants'  revolt  of 
1381.  This  revolt,  suppressed  by  the  courage  and  good 
judgment  of  the  boy  king,  Richard  II,  though  barren 
of  any  direct  and  immediate  results,  exerted  a  lasting 
influence  on  the  temper  of  the  lower  classes,  fostering 
in  them  a  spirit  of  independence  which  made  them 
no  longer  a  negligible  quantity  in  the  life  of  the  nation. 
They  ceased  to  be  merely  a  part  of  the  social  organism, 
and  became,  with  their  betters,  individuals  conscious  of 
their  individuality. 

The  new-born  spirit  of  nationality,  which  was  per- 
vading all  of  English  life,  found  striking  expression 
in  the  relations  of  England  with  the  Papacy.  Eng- 
land had  been  formerly,  of  all  nations,  most  loyal  in 
its  allegiance  to  the  Pope  ;  but  when  in  1309  the  seat 
of  the  Papacy  was  removed  to  Avignon,  and  the  holy 
father  himself  became  a  creature  of  the  French  king, 
loyalty  to  the  Pope  came  into  conflict  with  hatred  of 
France,  and  the  new  sentiment  of  national  patriotism 
proved  the  stronger.  Though  the  popes  of  the  '  Baby* 
Ionian  captivity '  seem  not  to  have  been  wicked  men, 
they  were,  at  any  rate,  weak  men  ;  and  the  papal  court 
became  a  centre  of  luxury  and  vice.  To  support  this 
luxury  it  became  necessary  to  sell  the  Church's  pre- 
ferment; and  England,  where  the  Church  owned  in 


10  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

landed  property  alone  more  than  one  third  of  the  soil 
of  the  realm,  and  received  in  dues  and  offerings  an 
income  amounting  to  twice  the  king's  revenue,  was 
a  particularly -rich  field  for  papal  simony.  When  for- 
eigners, French  and  Italian,  were  preferred  to  the  rich- 
est livings  in  England,  and  proceeded  to  spend  their 
incomes  abroad,  the  national  pride,  if  not  the  national 
conscience,  was  aroused ;  and  when  a  French  pope,  as 
the  last  court  of  appeal  in  matters  of  the  canon  law, 
set  aside  the  decisions  of  English  courts,  the  injury 
to  English  pride  was  still  deeper.  In  1351  was  passed 
the  Statute  of  Provisors,  which  aimed  to  stop  the  first 
of  these  abuses,  and  two  years  later  the  Statute  of 
Prcemunire  was  directed  against  the  second. 

This  anti-papal  agitation,  though  purely  political  in 
character,  could  not  fail  to  shake  also  the  religious 
authority  of  the  Church.  A  pope  who  was  a  French- 
man, and  therefore  an  enemy  of  England,  could  not 
command  the  full  religious  loyalty  of  Englishmen, 
especially  when  his  court  was  notorious  for  its  extrav- 
agance and  profligacy.  Not  unnaturally  the  corruption 
at  the  head  spread  through  the  whole  body ;  and  we 
are  unfortunately  compelled  to  believe  that  the  picture 
of  clerical  avarice  drawn  by  Chaucer  and  his  contem- 
poraries is  but  little  exaggerated.  Though  the  Church 
has  always  taught  that  the  unworthiness  of  the  minis- 
ter does  not  vitiate  the  efficacy  of  his  spiritual  minis- 
trations, it  was  inevitable  that  even  the  untutored  mind 
should  question  the  value  of  an  absolution  bought  with 
a  price  from  a  grasping  and  unscrupulous  priest,  and 
that  questioning  this,  it  should  question  further.  If 
this  was  not  enough,  what  must  have  been  the  conster- 
nation of  the  devout  when,  in  1378,  the  great  schism 
of  the  west  began,  and  Europe  beheld  two  rival  popes, 
each  hurling  anathemas  at  the  other  and  at  the  other's 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  11 

supporters !  Whichever  pope  you  recognized,  you 
were  excommunicated  by  the  other  ;  and  how  was  one 
to  tell  ?  England,  of  course,  gave  official  recognition 
to  Urban  VI,  the  Pope  of  Rome,  while  France  recog- 
nized Clement  VII  at  Avignon ;  but  the  prestige  of 
the  papal  name,  and  the  authority  of  the  Church  as  a 
whole,  received  a  crushing  blow.  The  more  worldly, 
like  Chaucer,  laughed  at  the  whole  thing;  the  more 
devout  either  bewailed  impotently,  like  Gower  and 
Langland,  the  corruption  they  could  not  cure,  or  were 
driven,  like  Wiclif,  into  an  open  revolt,  which  was  to 
be  the  precursor  of  the  Protestant  Reformation. 

The  corruption  in  the  Church  and  its  attendant 
moral  laxity  led  to  corruption  in  the  whole  social  body. 
*  If  gold  rust,  what  shall  iron  do  ? '  Chaucer's  Pro- 
logue shows  us  a  world  in  which  avarice  and  deceit 
are  all  but  universal,  and  the  Prologue  to  the  Vision 
of  Piers  Plowman  bears  witness  only  less  vigorously 
to  the  same  facts.  The  world,  as  Langland  sees  it,  is 
indeed  a  '  fair  field  ; '  but  the  laborers  are  unworthy. 
His  men  are  wandering  in  a  maze,  and  everything  is 
going  wrong.  Here  are  men  at  the  plow,  working  hard, 
playing  but  seldom.  What  is  the  result  of  their  work  ? 
They  are  winning  what  wasters  destroy  with  gluttony. 
Pilgrims  and  palmers  go  on  their  journeys ;  and  with 
what  result  ?  They  have  leave  to  lie  all  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  Friars,  whose  business  it  is  to  preach  the  gospel, 
gloze  it  to  their  own  profit.  Parsons  and  parish  priests 
are  forsaking  their  charges  to  go  up  to  London  and 
sing  in  chantries  at  Paul's.  Bishops  neglect  their  spir- 
itual duties  to  take  office  under  the  King  and  count  his 
silver.  Gower,  too,  in  the  Prologue  to  his  Confessio 
Amantis,  reviews  the  condition  of  Church  and  State, 
and,  less  vigorously  but  no  less  clearly,  portrays  the 
same  state  of  things :  — 


12  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Lo,  thus  tobroke  is  Cristes  folde, 
Wherof  the  flock  withoute  guide 
Devoured  is  on  every  side, 
In  lacke  of  hem  that  ben  unware 
Schepherdes,  whiche  her  wit  beware 
Upon  the  world  in  other  halve. 
The  sharpe  pricke  instede  of  salve 
Thei  usen  now,  wherof  the  hele 
Thei  hurte  of  that  they  scholden  hele  ; 
And  what  schep  that  is  full  of  wulle, 
Upon  his  back,  thei  toose  and  pulle. 

But  if  the  world  of  fourteenth-century  England  was 
sadly  out  of  joint,  it  was  far  from  being  stagnant.  In 
its  intellectual  ferment  the  age  had  much  the  same 
character  as  the  age  of  great  Elizabeth.  There  was  the 
same  glow  of  patriotism  and  national  consciousness 
consequent  upon  a  series  of  brilliant  victories  against  a 
foreign  foe  ;  there  was  the  same  spirit  of  revolt  against 
a  foreign  church  ;  and,  though  the  forms  of  mediseval- 
ism  still  survived,  there  was  at  work  the  same  leaven 
of  new  ideas  and  of  a  new  conception  of  life,  reinforced 
by  a  new  interest  in  the  works  of  classical  antiquity, 
coming  over-seas  from  Italy ;  literature  and  art  was 
breaking  away  from  the  conventional,  and,  under  the 
influence  of  new  models,  was  drinking  again  at  the 
fountain-head  of  nature.  For  such  periods  of  restless- 
ness and  change  have  often  given  birth  to  great  crea- 
tive literature. 

Among  a  throng  of  lesser  writers  who  contributed 
to  the  literature  of  fourteenth-century  England,  five 
stand  out  preeminent.  There  is  the  nameless  author 
of  /Sir  Gawayne  and  the  Pearl,  who,  thoroughly  medi- 
aeval in  his  sympathies,  infused  new  life  into  the  old 
forms  of  the  romance  and  the  vision.  There  is  Lang- 
land,  who,  though  a  mediaeval  in  his  habits  of  thought, 
had  an  independence  of  judgment,  a  vigor  of  expression, 


CHAUCER'S  ENGLAND  13 

and  a  strong  tinge  of  democracy,  even  of  socialism, 
withal,  which  are  essentially  modern.  There  is  Gower, 
at  whom  it  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  laugh  as  ponder- 
ous and  dull,  but  who  has,  nevertheless,  a  command  of 
language,  a  mastery  of  metre,  above  all  a  faculty  of 
simple,  straightforward  story -telling,  which  are  far  from 
contemptible,  and  which  make  his  Confessio  Amantis, 
when  taken  in  small  doses,  at  times  really  charming. 
There  is  the  vigorous  prose  of  Wiclif  in  his  sermons 
and  in  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  which  is  informed 
with  the  spirit  of  modern  Protestantism,  though  tem- 
pered, to  be  sure,  with  some  of  the  sweetness  of  medi- 
aeval Catholicism.  If  none  of  these  is  an  author  of  the 
first  importance,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  nearly  two 
hundred  years  were  to  elapse  before  any  other  English 
authors  should  arise  to  equal  any  one  of  them.  Finally, 
there  is  Chaucer,  the  most  perfect  exponent  of  his  age, 
who  blended  in  himself  both  the  old  and  the  new,  the 
mediaeval  and  the  modern,  who  not  only  represents  his 
age,  but,  transcending  its  limitations,  has  become  one 
of  the  foremost  English  poets  for  all  time. 


CHAUCER 

IF  the  critic  is  to  pass  beyond  the  study  of  individual 
poems,  and  seek  after  a  comprehensive  estimate  of  a 
poet's  whole  work,  or  if  he  would  wring  from  a  series 
of  writings  the  secret  of  the  writer's  soul,  and  strive  to 
learn  what  manner  of  man  he  was  and  by  what  stages 
he  became  what  he  became,  it  is  a  question  of  the 
first  importance  to  discover  in  what  order  his  works 
were  composed,  and  to  determine,  whenever  possible,  at 
least  an  approximate  date  for  the  composition  of  each. 
In  the  case  of  more  modern  authors,  in  general  of  those 
who  lived  after  the  invention  of  printing,  the  problem 
is  usually  solved  by  a  mere  inspection  of  the  dates  on 
the  title-pages  or  in  the  prefaces  of  their  volumes ;  but 
with  authors  like  Shakespeare,  who  avoided  publication 
by  printing,  and  still  more  with  authors  like  Chaucer, 
who  never  heard  of  the  printing-press,  the  problem  is 
more  serious.  The  investigator  must,  as  in  any  similar 
historical  inquiry,  collect  and  sift  all  the  obtainable 
evidence  of  whatever  sort.  At  times  the  evidence  will 
consist  of  references  in  other  books  to  the  work  in 
question  ;  sometimes  of  allusions  in  the  work  itself 
to  historical  events  of  known  date  ;  oftener,  and  evi- 
dence of  this  third  sort  is  least  conclusive,  and  must 
be  used  with  greatest  caution,  the  argument  must  be 
based  on  the  aesthetic  qualities  of  the  work  itself,  on 
metre,  style,  and  general  handling  of  the  theme,  which 
may  indicate  youth  or  maturity  or  decline  of  the  poet's 
power. 


CHAUCER  15 

For  a  few  of  Chaucer's  writings,  as,  for  example, 
the  Book  of  the  Duchess,  the  Parliament  of  Fowls,  the 
Legend  of  Good  Women,  it  is  possible  to  assign  approx- 
imate dates  with  a  good  deal  of  certainty.  From  the  list 
of  his  own  works  given  by  Chaucer  in  the  Prologue  to 
the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  we  learn  that  the  writings 
there  mentioned  were  composed  at  some  time  earlier 
than  the  Legend.  For  the  rest  we  are  forced  to  piece 
together  every  available  shred  of  evidence,  and  construct 
hypotheses  which  shall  be  as  plausible  as  may  be.  In 
the  succeeding  chapters  of  this  book,  where  Chaucer's 
writings  are  considered  separately,  such  evidence  and 
plausible  hypotheses  as  we  possess  regarding  the  dates 
of  the  several  works  are  considered  in  detail.  The  reader 
will  discover  that  the  evidence  is  often  of  the  flimsiest. 
It  is  only  necessary  here  to  sum  up  in  the  mass  what 
may  be  determined  of  the  orderly  development  of  Chau- 
cer's art  on  the  basis  of  the  information,  more  or  less 
trustworthy,  which  we  actually  possess.1 

When  it  is  remembered  that  the  date  of  Chaucer's 
birth  cannot  be  later  than  1340,  and  that  the  earliest 
of  his  works  for  which  we  can  assign  a  date,  the  Book 
of  the  Duchess,  was  not  written  till  1369,  we  are  at 
once  impressed  with  the  fact  that  Chaucer's  art  was 
very  late  in  coming  to  maturity.  For  the  Book  of  the 
Duchess,  though  by  no  means  a  contemptible  work, 
bears  evident  marks  of  youth  and  immaturity.  What 
was  Chaucer  doing  between  1360  and  1369  ?  To  this 
period  it  has  been  customary  to  assign  the  Romaunt 
of  the  Rose,  or  so  much  of  it  as  may  be  considered 

1  The  best  general  study  of  Chaucerian  chronology  is  the  essay  by 
J.  Koch,  The  Chronology  of  Chaucer's  Writings,  published  by  the  Chau- 
cer Society,  London,  1890.  Earlier,  and  therefore  less  trustworthy,  is 
Ten  Brink's  Chaucer :  Studien  zur  Geschichte  seiner  Entwicklung  und  zur 
Chronologic  seiner  Schriften,  Munster,  1870.  Ten  Brink's  later  views  on 
the  subject  may  be  found  in  two  articles  Zur  Chronologic  von  Chaucer1  a 


16  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Chaucer's  work  ;  and  though  this  assignment  has  been 
questioned,1  the  present  writer  is  inclined  to  accept  it 
as  probable.  In  this  period,  too,  we  may  assume,  were 
written  those  *  balades,  roundels,  virelayes,'  in  praise  of 
love,  to  which  Chaucer  refers  in  the  Legend  of  Good 
Women,  most  of  which  have  doubtless  perished.  To 
this  general  period  belongs  the  A.  B.  (7.,  and  possibly 
also  The  Book  of  the  Lion  and  Origines  upon  the 
Maudeleyne,  lost  works  to  which  Chaucer  refers  at  the 
end  of  the  Parson's  Tale  and  in  the  Legend  of  Good 
Women  respectively.  During  this,  the  earliest  period 
of  his  activity,  the  poet's  models  were  for  the  most 
part  French.  The  literary  world  in  which  he  lived  was 
a  world  of  dream  and  lovely  shadows,  of  abstractions 
and  graceful  conventions,  through  which  his  guide  was 
Guillaume  de  Lorris.  The  Book  of  the  Duchess  is  a 
pleasing  and  charming  piece,  but  not  a  great  poem ; 
excellent  as  is  its  poetic  execution,  there  is  little  to 
suggest  the  Chaucer  that  was  to  be.  Critics  have  been 
accustomed  to  call  this  period  the  period  of  French 
influence.  Like  most  generalizations,  the  term  is  con- 
venient but  dangerous.  If  we  keep  to  the  term,  and 
for  convenience'  sake  it  is  perhaps  well  that  we  should, 
we  must  be  careful  to  remember  that  the  French 
influence  upon  Chaucer  does  not  cease  with  the  close 
of  the  so-called  French  period.  The  Prologue  to  the 
Legend  of  Good  Women  is  thoroughly  in  the  school 
of  Guillaume  de  Lorris ;  and  in  the  Canterbury  Tales 
the  influence  of  the  satirical  method  of  Jean  de  Meuu, 
the  second  of  the  two  authors  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose, 
is  evident  at  every  turn.  It  is  the  overwhelming  pre- 

Sckriften,  in  Englische  Studien,  17. 1-22,  189-200  (1892).    The  opinions 
advocated  by  these  earlier  students  of  the  subject  have  been  consider- 
ably modified  by  later  investigations  as  to  the  date  of  particular  poems. 
1  Cf.  below,  p.  56. 


CHAUCER  17 

dominance  of  French  influence   in   this   early  period 
which  makes  the  term,  appropriate. 

In  1373  and  again  in  1378  Chaucer  was  sent  on 
diplomatic  missions  to  Italy,  and  came  for  the  first 
time  into  vital  contact  with  the  great  intellectual  move- 
ment of  the  early  Renaissance.  He  felt  the  power  of 
Dante's  divine  poem ;  he  breathed  the  atmosphere  of 
humanism  which  emanated  from  Petrarch  and  his  cir- 
cle ;  he  found  in  Boccaccio  a  great  •  kindred  spirit,  an 
author  of  keen  artistic  susceptibility,  who  in  character 
and  temperament  had  much  in  common  with  himself. 
He  found  in  Italy  not  only  a  new  set  of  models,  supe- 
rior in  art  and  in  depth  of  thought  to  those  of  France ; 
he  received  as  well  a  new  and  powerful  intellectual 
stimulus,  which  set  him  to  thinking  more  deeply  on  the 
problems  of  philosophy,  and  gave  him  a  keener  inter- 
est in  the  intricacies  of  human  character.  It  follows 
naturally  enough  that  the  decade  from  1375  to  1385 
was  one  of  unwearied  literary  production.  Despite  his 
somewhat  arduous  duties  as  an  office-holder  in  the 
civil  service,  he  found  time  to  produce  a  series  of 
works  which  would  alone  assure  him  a  permanent  place 
in  English  literature.  In  the  domain  of  philosophy  he 
made  his  translation  of  Boethius  on  the  Consolation 
of  Philosophy,  one  of  the  half-dozen  most  popular 
books  during  the  whole  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  one 
which  entered  very  deeply  into  Chaucer's  philosophy 
of  life.  Though  he  was  already  familiar  with  the 
doctrines  of  Boethius  as  they  are  represented  in  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  it  is  hardly  to  be  questioned  that 
the  spur  to  work  of  this  more  serious  character  came  to 
him  from  his  Italian  voyages.  His  newly  found  inter- 
est in  human  beings  as  individuals,  in  the  more  com- 
plex problems  of  character,  bore  fruit  in  his  best 
sustained  and  most  perfect  work,  Troilus  and  Criseyde. 


18  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

To  this  decade,  most  probably  to  the  earlier  years  of  it, 
belongs  the  House  of  Fame,  a  poem  written  in  the  octo- 
syllabic couplets  of  Chaucer's  French  models,  and  in  its 
form  a  dream- vision  of  the  same  type  as  the  Book  of  the 
Duchess,  but  thoroughly  permeated  with  memories  of 
Dante.  Here  and  in  the  Parliament  of  Fowls,  written  in 
1381  or  1382,  Chaucer's  artistic  power  has  reached 
something  very  near  to  full  maturity.  In  each  of  these 
poems  an  essentially  slight  theme  is  developed  with  the 
utmost  wealth  of  wit  and  fancy;  through  each  Chaucer's 
characteristic  humor  plays  most  deliciously.  To  the 
earlier  years  of  this  decade,  also,  will  probably  be  as- 
signed the  legend  of  St.  Cecilia,  which  was  later  to  be- 
come the  Second  Nun's  Tale,  and  possibly  also  the  series 
of  'tragedies,'  modelled  on  the  De  Casibus  Virorum  et 
Feminarum  Illustrium  of  Boccaccio,  later  utilized  as  the 
tale  of  the  Canterbury  Monk.  To  the  later  years  of  the 
decade  belong  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  and  Troilus;  and 
at  its  very  close,  I  believe,  the  story  of  Palamon  and 
Arcite,  which  we  know  as  the  Knight's  Tale.  It  is  in 
these  poems  that  the  influence  of  Boccaccio  is  supreme. 
As  the  first  period  of  the  poet's  activity  has  been  called 
the  period  of  French  influence,  so  this  second  period  has 
been  called  that  of  Italian  influence.  With  the  same 
proviso  as  before,  that  a  great  influence  once  felt  never 
ceases  to  operate,  this  term  also  maybe  allowed  to  stand. 
Chaucer  has  not  forgotten  his  French  models;  but  the 
influence  of  Italy  is  predominant. 

To  the  final  period  of  Chaucer's  art  belong  his  great- 
est work,  the  Canterbury  Tales,  begun  soon  after  1386, 
and,  on  the  borderland  of  the  period,  the  unfinished 
work  which  may  be  thought  of  as  a  sort  of  propaedeutic 
to  this,  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  a  collection  of  tales 
introduced  by  the  most  charming  of  dream-vision  allego- 
ries, which  may  safely  be  dated  1385  or  1386.  If  we  speak 


CHAUCER  19 

of  this  as  the  period  of  Chaucer's  originality,  we  must 
carefully  define  what  we  mean  by  the  term  original. 
For  nearly  every  tale  in  the  Legend  and  in  the  Book 
of  Canterbury  a  definite  original  may  be  found ;  nor  is 
the  idea  of  either  collection  essentially  Chaucer's  own. 
Chaucer,  like  Shakespeare,  seldom  troubled  himself  to 
invent  a  plot.  For  a  majority,  perhaps,  of  the  ideas  to 
be  found  in  these  works  Chaucer  is  indebted  to  '  olde 
bokes.'  The  striking  difference  between  this  period 
and  the  two  which  preceded  is  that  no  single  influence 
is  predominant,  no  single  influence  save  that  of  the 
poet's  own  personality.  From  the  Roman  de  la  Rose, 
from  Boethius,  from  Italy,  from  ancient  Rome,  Chaucer 
borrows  at  will ;  but  he  has  ceased  to  be  a  pupil,  and 
has  become  a  master.  In  a  sense  he  is  no  longer  influ- 
enced from  without ;  he  has  absorbed  and  assimilated 
and  made  his  own.  Thoughts  which  were  once  the 
thoughts  of  Boethius  or  Jean  de  Meun  or  Boccaccio 
are  now  his  thoughts.  He  has  included  and  tran- 
scended. 

Among  the  individual  authors  from  whom  Chaucer 
drew  the  material  which  he  thus  took  up  into  himself, 
four  stand  out  preeminent.  They  are  Boethius,  Jean  de 
Meun,  Boccaccio,  and  Ovid.  From  Boethius  he  drew 
the  major  part  of  his  philosophy,  his  insistence  on  a 
stoical  superiority  to  Fortune  and  her  whims,  his  in- 
terest in  the  problem  of  foreknowledge  and  free-will, 
his  platonic  belief  that  true  nobility  springs  only  from 
greatness  of  soul.  Wherever  Chaucer  moralizes  or  phi- 
losophizes, the  chances  are  strong  that  a  similar  passage 
may  be  found  in  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy.1  To 

1  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  doctrines  of  Boethius  are  largely 
reproduced  in  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  and  that  consequently  it  is  often 
impossible  to  determine  whether  Chaucer  is  borrowing  at  first  or  at 
second  hand.  Since  Chaucer  was  intimately  acquainted  with  both 
works,  the  question  is  one  of  little  moment ;  for  he  cannot  have  failed 


20  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Jean  de  Meun,  Chaucer's  debt  is  manifold.  From  him 
he  learned  the  highly  effective  satirical  method  which 
he  uses  in  the  General  Prologue  to  the  Canterbury 
Tales  and  in  the  prologues  of  the  Pardoner  and  the 
Wife  of  Bath,  from  him  he  borrowed  many  of  his 
ideas,  in  particular  those  which  are  tinged  with  radi- 
calism or  skepticism ;  still  more  important,  he  seems 
to  have  acquired  from  Jean  de  Meun  that  attitude  of 
mind,  that  habit  of  thought,  which  became  an  integral 
part  of  his  nature  —  the  habit  of  looking  at  life  from 
the  standpoint  of  comedy,  that  curious  blending  of  easy 
tolerance  and  biting  sarcasm,  which  is  saved  only  by  the 
evident  kindliness  of  his  soul  from  the  charge  of  down- 
right cynicism.  From  Boccaccio  and  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance Chaucer  received,  as  we  have  already  seen,  an 
interest  in  individual  humanity,  a  new  and  higher  stand- 
ard of  artistic  form,  and  a  great  intellectual  stimulus, 
not  to  mention  the  plots  of  two  of  his  most  important 
compositions.  To  Ovid,  to  whose  work  the  philosophical 
eagle  in  the  House  of  Fame  refers  as  Chaucer's  '  owne 
book,'  Chaucer  was  indebted  largely  and  continuously. 
*  Altogether,'  says  Professor  Louusbury, '  Ovid  may  be 
called  the  favorite  author  of  Chaucer  in  respect  to 
the  extent  to  which  the  material  taken  from  him  was 
embodied  in  productions  of  his  own,  written  at  long 
intervals  of  time  apart,  and  upon  subjects  essentially 
different.' 1  Though  Chaucer  knew  Virgil,  and  was  not 
unacquainted  with  other  Latin  literature,  classical  an- 
tiquity appealed  to  him  most  strongly  in  the  pages  of 
Ovid.  While  drawing  from  him  stories  and  allusions, 

to  recognize  Boethius  as  the  original  source.  He  was  probably  not 
aware  of  the  fact  that  the  work  of  Boethius  is  little  more  than  a  com- 
pendium of  the  doctrines  of  earlier  philosophers. 

1  Studies  in  Chaucer,  2.  251,  252.  The  quotation  is  from  the  chapter 
on  '  The  Learning  of  Chaucer,'  a  chapter  of  which  the  serious  student 
of  Chaucer  cannot  afford  to  be  ignorant. 


CHAUCER  21 

Chaucer  must  have  learned  also  some  of  Ovid's  ease 
and  grace,  his  power  of  vivid  description,  his  rich  sen- 
suousness  of  color  and  form. 

Recognizing  how  great  is  Chaucer's  debt  to  the  work 
of  those  who  went  before  him,  one  is  tempted  to  ask 
what  is  left  to  Chaucer  as  his  own.  In  one  sense,  little, 
in  another  sense,  all.  If  originality  be  taken  to  imply 
newness,  what  was  never  known  nor  thought  before,  ori- 
ginal minds  have  been  very  rare  in  the  world's  history, 
and  have  seldom  expressed  themselves  in  literature  and 
art.  The  artist  is  not  properly  an  investigator,  a  dis- 
coverer of  truth ;  his  function  is  rather  to  select  and 
assimilate,  and  by  new  combination  of  ideas  or  by  new 
and  higher  expression,  to  present  the  truth  with  greater 
cogency  and  to  commend  it  to  the  emotions  of  his  audi- 
ence. He  is,  however,  no  mere  purveyor  of  the  truth ; 
he,  too,  must  be  an  original  thinker,  but  original  in 
the  sense  that  he  carries  back  the  truth  which  he  has 
learned  to  its  origin,  its  fountain-head,  in  nature  itself. 
Novelty  is  possible  to  very  few ;  originality  is  possible 
to  many.  It  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  drink 
from  a  new  river  of  truth,  but  that  we  should  drink  its 
waters  at  the  fountain-head,  the  origo,  unmixed  and 
unsullied.  When  Chaucer  retells  Boccaccio's  story  of 
Troilus  and  his  faithless  love,  he  does  not  merely  trans- 
late ;  neither  does  he  paraphrase  and  adapt.  Accepting 
the  plot  of  the  Filostrato,  he  creates  the  characters 
anew  from  his  own  independent  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  giving  to  them  new  sentiments,  new  motives, 
impelling  them  often  to  new  actions,  and  consequently 
to  new  situations.  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Criseyde  and 
Pandarus  are  as  original,  perhaps  more  original,  than 
their  prototypes  in  Boccaccio.  So  is  it  when  he  bor- 
rows a  thought  from  Boethius  or  Jean  de  Meun.  In 
this  sense  Chaucer  is  a  great  original  poet;  in  this 


22  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

sense,  and  in  this  sense  alone,  may  we  assert  the  ori- 
ginality of  Shakespeare.  If  Chaucer's  indebtedness 
seems  greater  than  Shakespeare's,  it  is  first  because 
the  range  of  his  intellect  is  less  universal,  and  secondly 
because  he  drew  from  a  smaller  number  of  sources. 
We  of  to-day  draw  our  ideas  from  such  a  multitude  of 
writers  that  our  resultant  philosophies  are  mosaics, 
wherein  it  is  all  but  impossible  to  distinguish  the  origin 
of  this  bit  and  of  that;  Chaucer  had  relatively  few 
sources  from  which  to  draw,  and  his  indebtedness  to 
each  of  these  is  consequently  much  larger. 

Having  seen  the  principal  sources  whence  the  poet's 
ideas  were  drawn,  and  the  process  by  which  these 
ideas  were  made  his  own,  it  will  not  be  very  difficult  to 
frame  some  general  notion  of  his  ideals  and  beliefs,  of 
his  attitude  toward  the  world  about  him,  of  what  may 
be  called  his  philosophy  of  life.  Not  that  Chaucer  ever 
fashioned  for  himself  a  complete  and  consistent  'sys- 
tem '  of  philosophy ;  he  was  as  far  as  possible  removed 
from  any  purpose  of  deliberate  didacticism ;  he  was 
conscious  of  no  burning  'message'  to  be  delivered 
through  the  medium  of  his  art ;  but  it  is  none  the  less 
possible  to  gather  from  his  works  a  fairly  definite  idea 
of  his  intellectual  and  spiritual  constitution. 

If  the  distinction  be  indeed  legitimate,  Chaucer's 
mind  is  remarkable  rather  for  its  breadth  than  for  its 
depth,  for  the  extent  of  its  interests  rather  than  for 
the  intensity  of  its  convictions.  If  Chaucer  is  not  a 
profound  thinker,  he  is  at  any  rate  marked  by  an  eager 
intellectual  curiosity,  an  openness  to  ideas,  which  is 
evident  at  all  periods  of  his  life.  In  the  domain  of 
science  one  notices  first  of  all  his  interest  in  astronomy 
and  the  related  pseudo-science  of  astrology.  His  works 
abound  in  allusions  astronomical  and  astrological.  Like 
Dante  and  Milton,  he  prefers  to  tell  his  times  and 


CHAUCER  23 

seasons  by  the  great  clock  of  the  starry  heavens  and 
by  the  calendar  of  the  zodiac.  So  minute  and  definite 
are  these  allusions  in  the  majority  of  cases  that  we 
must  depend  on  the  professed  student  of  astronomy  for 
their  elucidation.  From  such  elucidations  we  learn  that 
the  allusions  are  not  only  definite  but  accurate.  The 
crowning  proof  of  the  poet's  astronomical  attainments 
is  furnished  by  his  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe,  written 
in  his  later  years  for  the  use  of  '  litel  Lowis  my  sone.' 
Though  his  acquaintance  with  physical  science  was  less 
extensive,  the  discourse  of  the  eagle  in  the  House  of 
Fame  includes  an  admirable  exposition  of  the  theory 
of  the  transmission  of  sound ;  and  a  similar  perception 
of  scientific  principles,  though  with  humorous  applica- 
tion, is  shown  in  the  concluding  episode  of  the  Sum- 
moneys  Tale.  That  Chaucer  had  delved  somewhat 
deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  alchemy  is  shown  by  the 
tale  of  the  Canon's  Yeoman.  Still  another  topic,  on 
the  borderland  of  science,  in  which  he  betrays  a  lively 
interest  is  the  cause  and  significance  of  dreams.1 

In  the  realm  of  philosophy  and  metaphysic  there  was 
one  problem  which  had  for  Chaucer  a  powerful  fasci- 
nation, the  problem  of  God's  foreknowledge  and  the 
freedom  of  man's  will.  On  this  topic  the  disappointed 
Troilus  argues  with  himself  at  weary  length ;  on  this 
topic,  and  on  the  related  topic  of  man's  inability  to 
choose  for  himself,  Arcite  discourses  in  the  KnighCs 
Tale  (A.  1251-1274)  ;  to  the  same  topic  the  Knight's 
Tale  reverts  near  its  close  in  a  long  speech  by  Theseus. 
Some  years  later  Chaucer  opened  the  question  again, 
this  time  in  playful  mood,  in  the  tale  of  the  Nun's 

1  This  interest,  which  Chaucer  shares  with  many  of  his  contem- 
poraries, is  to  be  traced  to  the  popularity  of  Macrobius's  commentary 
on  the  Somnium  Scipionis  of  Cicero.  For  an  account  of  this  work,  see 
below,  p.  65. 


24  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Priest.  Somewhat  closely  allied  with  this  problem  of 
foreknowledge  and  predestination  is  the  equally  insol- 
uble problem  of  the  existence  of  evil  in  a  world  gov- 
erned by  an  all-powerful  and  benevolent  God.  It  is 
this  problem  which  troubles  the  faithful  Dorigen  in  the 
Franklin's  Tale,  when  she  contemplates  '  thise  grisly 
feendly  rokkes  blake  '  which  line  the  coast  of  Brittany, 
and  threaten  shipwreck  to  her  husband  returning  from 
over-seas  (F.  865-893).  With  more  of  bitterness  and 
less  of  faith,  the  woeful  prisoner,  Palamon,  vexes  the 
same  baffling  question  in  the  KnigMs  Tale  (A.  1303- 
1333)  :  — 

Th'  answere  of  this  I  lete  to  divynis, 

But  wel  I  woot,  that  in  this  world  gret  pyne  is. 

Chaucer  does  not  solve  these  questions  —  who  indeed 
shall  solve  them  ?  —  neither  does  he  in  his  discussion 
of  them  pass  much  beyond  his  master  Boethius.  What 
is  significant  for  our  purpose  is  not  his  answers,  for 
Chaucer  is  not  primarily  a  philosopher,  but  the  evi- 
dence which  these  discussions  bear  to  his  eager  intel- 
lectual curiosity. 

In  the  poet's  attitude  towards  these  various  interests 
of  science  and  metaphysic,  in  his  attitude  towards  all 
the  interests  of  life,  one  plainly  discerns  a  tendency 
towards  skepticism.  It  is  easy  to  exaggerate  this  tend- 
ency; and  some  of  Chaucer's  critics,  among  them  Pro- 
fessor Lounsbury,  have  laid  upon  this  trait  an  emphasis 
which  seems  to  me  undue.  Nevertheless,  the  point  is 
not  one  to  be  neglected.  Interested  as  he  is  in  astro- 
nomy, Chaucer  had  learned,  at  least  at  the  time  when 
he  wrote  the  Franldiris  Tale,  to  distrust  utterly  the 
claims  of  astrologers  and  magicians.  The  magician  of 
the  story  had  a  book,  — 

Which  book  spak  muchel  of  the  operaciouns, 
Touchinge  the  eighte  aud  twenty  mansiouns 


CHAUCER  25 

That  longen  to  the  mone,  and  sunchfotye, 
As  in  our  dayes  is  nat  worth  aflye.1 

That  Chaucer  did  not  take  very  seriously  the  claims  of 
the  alchemists,  the  Canon's  Yeoman's  Tale  may  bear 
witness.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  majority  even 
of  the  more  intelligent  of  Chaucer's  contemporaries, 
and  of  his  successors  for  several  generations  to  come, 
believed  firmly  in  both  of  these  so-called  sciences.  Of 
the  supernatural  in  myth  and  story,  Chaucer  makes,  of 
course,  large  use  in  his  works ;  and  usually  he  is  artist 
enough  to  give  to  the  supernatural  the  air  of  verisimili- 
tude ;  but  once,  at  least,  when  telling  in  the  Legend 
of  Dido  of  the  supernatural  mist  by  which  JEneas  was 
made  invisible  on  his  entrance  into  Carthage,  he  feels 
called  upon  to  screen  himself  from  any  charge  of  undue 
credulity :  — 

I  can  nat  seyn  if  that  it  be  possible, 

But  Venus  hadde  him  inaked  invisible,  — 

Thus  seith  the  book,  withouten  any  lees.2 

That  Chaucer  was  capable  of  questioning  some  of  the 
tenets  even  of  orthodox  Christianity,  we  shall  see  a  little 
later  on. 

Coupled  with  this  tendency  to  skepticism  is  a  notice- 
able tinge  of  radicalism.  This,  again,  must  not  be  exag- 
gerated ;  Chaucer  was  no  revolutionist ;  he  had  no  desire 
to  subvert  the  existing  order  of  things,  either  civil  or 
ecclesiastical.  But  the  speech  of  the  transformed  hag 
at  the  close  of  the  Wife  of  Bathes  Tale,  and  the  balade 
of  Gentilesse,  betray  a  strong  leaven  of  democracy, 
which  is  further  evident  in  the  lively  and  sympathetic 
interest  in  the  lower  classes  shown  not  infrequently 
in  the  Canterbury  Tales.  Even  more  radical  in  its 

1  Chaucer  expresses  a  similar  opinion  in  his  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe, 
2,  4.  58-61 :  '  Natheles,  thise  ben  observauncez  of  judicial  matiere  and 
rytes  of  payens.  in  which  my  spirit  ne  hath  no  feith.' 

8  Legend,  1020-1022. 


26  THE  POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

tendency  is  the  discussion  of  celibacy,  that  cherished 
ideal  of  mediseval  Catholicism,  found  in  the  Wife  of 
Bath's  Prologue,  and  touched  on  again  in  the  Monk's 
Prologue  and  in  the  Epilogue  to  the  Nun's  Priest's 
Tale. 

Though  it  has  been  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to 
discover  Chaucer's  attitude  towards  many  of  the  inter- 
ests of  his  day,  it  is  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  to 
determine  with  any  exactness  his  attitude  towards  Chris- 
tianity and  the  Catholic  Church ;  for  of  his  inmost  con- 
victions and  hopes  Chaucer,  like  other  modest  men, 
speaks  but  seldom,  and  with  reserve.  We  must  not  be 
misled,  as  were  the  reformers  of  Henry  VIII's  time,  by 
the  bitterness  of  Chaucer's  attacks  on  the  corruptions 
of  the  Church,  into  classing  him  with  Wiclif  as  one  of 
the  forerunners  of  the  Reformation.  A  contemporary 
writer  of  unquestioned  orthodoxy,  John  Gower,  ful- 
minates with  equal  bitterness,  if  with  less  effectiveness, 
against  precisely  the  same  abuses ;  and  Langland,  who 
in  his  treatment  of  the  clergy  is  at  one  with  Chaucer  and 
Gower,  is  always  a  faithful  son  of  the  Church.  From 
a  great  mass  of  independent  testimony,  we  are  compelled 
to  the  belief  that  Chaucer's  picture  of  wholesale  cor- 
ruption is  but  little  overdrawn.  It  is  entirely  conceiv- 
able that  Chaucer,  like  Gower,  should,  while  remaining 
loyal  to  the  Church,  deplore  its  abuses.  If  Chaucer  has 
shown  us  unworthy  churchmen,  has  he  not  also  painted, 
with  all  apparent  sympathy,  the  portrait  of  an  ideal 
pastor,  the  '  povre  persoun  of  a  toun '  ?  As  regards  the 
vital  doctrines  of  Christianity,  Chaucer  maintains  a 
discreet  silence,  from  which  nothing  can  be  inferred 
one  way  or  the  other.  Professor  Lounsbury  has  made 
much 1  of  the  opening  lines  of  the  Prologue  to  the 
Legend  of  Good  Women :  — 

1  Studies  in  Chaucer,  2. 612.  The  whole  of  the  section  entitled  '  Chan- 


CHAUCER  27 

A  thousand  tymes  have  I  herd  men  telle, 

That  ther  is  joye  in  heven,  and  peyne  ill  belle  ; 

And  I  acorde  wel  that  bit  is  so; 

But  natheles,  yit  wot  I  wel  also, 

That  ther  nis  noon  dwelling  in  this  contree, 

That  either  hath  in  heven  or  belle  ybe, 

Ne  may  of  hit  non  other  weyes  witen, 

But  as  be  hath  herd  seyd,  or  founde  hit  writen. 

This  Professor  Lounsbury  considers  a  skeptical  utter- 
ance. But  taken  in  the  light  of  its  context,  the  passage 
is  capable  of  an  interpretation  directly  the  opposite. 
Chaucer  is  arguing  that  we  must  give  '  feyth  and  ful 
credence '  to  books,  even  when  they  relate  things  be- 
yond the  pale  of  our  personal  experience,  just  as  we 
believe  in  the  joys  of  heaven  and  the  pains  of  hell, 
though  no  man  living  has  ever  tasted  of  either.  Equally 
inconsequent  is  any  argument  drawn  from  the  lines 
in  the  KnigM 's  Tale  which  have  to  do  with  Arcite's 
death  (A.  2808-2814)  :  — 

His  spirit  chaunged  hous,  and  wente  ther, 

As  I  cam  never,  I  can  nat  tellen  wber. 

Therfor  I  stinte,  I  nam  no  divinistre  ; 

Of  soules  finde  I  nat  in  this  registre, 

Ne  me  ne  list  thilke  opiniouns  to  telle 

Of  hem,  though  that  they  wryten  wber  they  dwelle. 

Chaucer  may  surely  decline  to  accompany  his  person- 
ages '  through  the  strait  and  dreadful  pass  of  death ' 
without  being  accused  of  infidelity  as  to  the  life  beyond. 
A  somewhat  stronger  case  may  be  made  out  for  Chau- 
cer's doubt  as  to  the  efficacy  of  the  absolution  granted 
by  the  corrupt  clergy  of  his  day.  After  his  merciless 
exposure  of  the  methods  of  the  Summoner  in  the  Gen- 
eral Prologue,  he  says :  — 

cer's  Relations  to  Religion  '  deserves  careful  reading.  To  the  present 
writer  Professor  Lounsbury  seems  to  have  laid  undue  emphasis  on 
Chaucer's  chance  remarks. 


28  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Of  cursing  oghte  ech  gilty  man  him  drede  — 
For  curs  wol  slee,  right  as  assoilling  saveth. 

This  is  unquestionably  an  ironical  utterance ;  but  one 
satirical  remark  must  not  be  allowed  to  weigh  too 
heavily,  until  it  has  been  proved  that  Chaucer  did  not 
write  the  Parson's  Tale.  The  doctrine  of  transub- 
stantiation,  openly  combated  during  Chaucer's  lifetime 
by  the  reformer  Wiclif,  the  poet  nowhere  questions. 

That  Chaucer's  mind  betrays  a  tendency  towards 
skepticism,  or  at  least  towards  criticism,  no  one  will 
doubt.  His  restless  intellectual  curiosity  led  him  to 
question  many  things  in  heaven  and  earth ;  and  under 
the  influence  of  the  new  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  he 
began  no  doubt  to  exercise  the  '  right  of  private  judg- 
ment.' But  that  he  was  and  remained,  in  his  beliefs 
and  hopes,  in  all  essentials,  a  Christian  and  a  loyal 
Catholic,  there  is  no  reason  to  deny  and  no  adequate 
reason  to  doubt.  Of  the  essentially  religious  nature  of 
his  character  such  works  as  the  Boethius  translation, 
the  Parson's  Tale,  the  Lawyer's  tale  of  Constance, 
and  the  Prioress's  story  of  the  'litel  clergeon '  furnish 
sufficient  proof.  The  essential  Tightness  of  his  moral 
judgment  no  one  familiar  with  his  work  can  seriously 
doubt.  Some  of  his  work,  dealing  as  it  does  with  fla- 
grant immorality,  is  of  questionable  propriety;  but  with 
one  or  two  exceptions,  there  is  no  attempt  to  show  sin  in 
other  than  its  true  light.  Even  these  exceptions  are  to 
be  explained  as  due  to  an  excess  of  the  spirit  of  comedy, 
rather  than  to  a  perverted  moral  judgment.  In  the 
little  that  we  know  of  Chaucer's  life,  there  is  nothing 
that  is  inconsistent  with  the  high  virtues  of  '  trouthe 
and  honour,  fredom  and  curteisye,'  or  with  the  essen- 
tially Christian  virtue,  humility  of  heart. 

Right  as  are  his  moral  judgments,  quick  as  he  is  to 
perceive  evil,  Chaucer  is  never  touched  by  the  spirit 


CHAUCER  29 

of  the  reformer.  He  was  capable,  doubtless,  of  sympa- 
thizing with  a  Langland  or  a  Wiclif,  but  he  never  set 
himself  consciously  to  further  their  work.  He  sees  the 
corruption  of  the  Church,  and  clearly  recognizes  the 
evil  of  it ;  but  who  is  he  to  set  the  crooked  straight  ? 
There  has  been  always,  since  the  close  of  the  Golden  Age, 
evil  in  the  world  ;  in  one  form  or  another  evil  will  al- 
ways exist.  It  is  so,  apparently,  that  God  made  the  world. 
If  there  is  always  evil,  there  is  always  also  good  ;  the 
worst  hypocrites  in  the  Canterbury  Tales  have  in  them 
somewhat  of  good,  something  even  lovable.  The  good 
is  always  admirable ;  and  the  evil,  though  deplorable, 
is  so  very  amusing.  If  this  is  not  the  best  possible 
world,  it  is  at  least  the  best  actual  world,  the  world  at 
any  rate  in  which  we  must  spend  our  threescore  years 
and  ten.  Let  us  cleave  to  what  is  good,  and  laugh  good- 
naturedly  at  what  is  evil.  Above  all,  let  us  keep  our 
hearts  kind  and  tender,  lacerated  by  no  sceva  indigna- 
tio  at  what  we  cannot  cure.  In  this  spirit  of  kindly  tol- 
erance Chaucer  looked  at  the  world  about  him.  To  the 
ardent  reformer  such  an  attitude  as  this  seems  merely 
base  and  pusillanimous ;  but  in  Chaucer  it  springs 
neither  from  weakness  nor  indifference,  but  from  quiet 
conviction.  The  reformer  is  necessarily  a  protestant,  a 
dissenter ;  Chaucer  is  essentially  a  Catholic,  his  spirit 
is  the  Catholic  spirit  —  perhaps  it  may  be  shown  to  be 
essentially  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  To  the  man  of 
truly  humble  spirit  his  own  importance  in  the  universe 
seems  but  small,  his  own  exertions  of  slight  avail.  He 
will  live  his  own  life  in  the  world  as  well  as  he  can. 
Sedulously  removing  the  beams  from  his  own  eyes,  he 
will  give  to  the  world  whatever  of  good  he  can,  and 
see  to  it  that  his  own  small  influence  be  an  influence 
towards  righteousness ;  for  the  rest,  he  will  leave  the  sal- 
vation of  the  world  in  the  competent  hands  of  the  God 


30  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

who  has  created  it.  Chaucer  has  said  all  this  himself 
in  what  is  one  of  his  noblest  utterances,  the  Balade  de 
Bon  Conseyl,  to  which  has  been  given  the  title  Truth. 

Tempest  thee  noght  al  croked  to  redresse, 
In  trust  of  bir  that  turneth  as  a  bal: 
Gret  reste  stant  in  litel  besinesse; 
And  eek  be  war  to  sporne  ageyn  an  al; 
Stryve  noght,  as  doth  the  crokke  with  the  wal. 
Daunte  thyself,  that  dauntest  otheres  dede; 
And  trouthe  shal  delivere,  hit  is  no  drede. 

That  thee  is  sent,  receyve  in  buxumnesse, 

The  wrastling  for  this  worlde  axeth  a  f al. 

Her  nis  non  boom,  her  nis  but  wildernesse; 

Forth,  pilgrim,  forth  !  Forth,  beste,  out  of  thy  stal  1 

Know  thy  contree,  look  up,  thank  God  of  al; 

Hold  the  hye  wey,  and  lat  thy  gost  thee  lede ; 

And  trouthe  shal  delivere,  hit  is  no  drede. 

l"hat  is  the  Catholic  spirit ;  that  is  the  spirit  that  actu- 
ated Chaucer's  life.  Reformers  may  rail  at  this  spirit 
as  they  please,  but  they  cannot  prove  that  it  is  weak 
or  base. 

One  other  line  from  the  balade  entitled  Truth,  not 
included  in  the  two  stanzas  given  above,  must  be  quoted 
for  the  light  which  it  throws  on  Chaucer's  temper.  It 
is  the  line  with  which  the  poem  opens :  — 

Flee  fro  the  prees,  and  dwelle  with  sotbfastnesse. 
In  the  Prologue  to  Sir  TJiopas,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, when  the  Host  calls  upon  Chaucer  to  tell  his  tale, 
he  accuses  him  of  riding  ever  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  and  urges  him  to  approach  nearer  and  look  up 
merrily :  — 

'  He  scmeth  elvish  by  his  contenaunce, 
For  unto  no  wight  dooth  he  daliaunce.' 

Again,  in  the  House  of  Fame,  the  eagle  says  to  Chau- 
cer:— 


CHAUCER  31 

1  And  noght  only  fro  fer  contree, 
That  ther  no  tyding  conith  to  thee, 
But  of  thy  verray  neyghebores, 
That  dwellen  almost  at  thy  dores, 
Thou  herest  neither  that  ne  this.' 

The  trait  to  which  these  passages  all  point  is  one  highly 
characteristic  of  Chaucer's  nature,  a  certain  aloofness 
from  the  world  of  men  and  things.  Though  keenly  in- 
terested, he  never  seems  to  have  felt  himself  a  part  of 
it.  To  the  great  peasants'  revolt  of  1381,  the  dramatic 
denouement  of  which  in  the  streets  of  London  he  may 
well  have  witnessed  with  his  own  eyes,  he  refers  but 
once,  and  then  only  playfully  in  three  lines.1  Though 
the  battle  of  Poitiers  was  fought  in  Chaucer's  lifetime, 
and  though  he  himself  had  seen  service  in  the  fields  of 
France,  he  never  sings  the  glory  of  the  English  arms. 
Closely  attached  as  he  was  to  the  royal  court,  he  never 
speaks  of  the  great  diplomatic  struggle  which  was  being 
fought  out  between  England  and  the  Pope.  Chaucer  was 
living  the  while  in  another  realm,  the  realm  of  fantasy. 
Not  that  he  felt  it  necessary,  like  Wordsworth,  to  retire 
to  the  solitude  of  some  Dove  Cottage ;  fond  as  he  was 
of  wandering  in  the  fields  of  a  May  morning,  Chaucer 
would  have  been  quite  miserable  in  Dove  Cottage.  He 
lived  the  major  part  of  his  life  in  London,  and  held 
important  offices  under  the  Crown.  We  have  every 
reason  to  believe  that  he  discharged  the  duties  of  these 
offices  faithfully  and  efficiently.  Neither  did  he  close 
his  eyes  to  things  about  him ;  few  English  poets  have 
observed  the  ways  of  men  so  minutely  and  so  accurately 
as  he.  He  could  be  a  practical  man  of  affairs,  when  that 
was  necessary  ;  he  was  doubtless  the  most  charming  of 
companions  over  a  glass  of  canary  or  old  sack.  But  by 
temperament  and  choice  he  held  aloof,  not  an  actor  but 
1  B.  4584-4586. 


32  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

a  spectator,  sympathizing  but  not  sharing  in  the  inter- 
ests of  the  world.  He  was  in  the  world,  but  not  of  it ; 
and  for  this  very  reason,  perhaps,  he  continues  to  live 
when  the  more  active  and  conspicuous  men  of  his  age 
have  become  but  a  shadow  and  a  name. 

The  intellectual  curiosity  and  openness  of  mind 
which  mark  Chaucer's  attitude  towards  the  world  in 
general  are  equally  evident  in  his  more  exclusively  lit- 
erary activity.  Never  a  profound  scholar,1  even  when 
measured  by  the  standards  of  his  own  day,  he  was, 
none  the  less,  an  omnivorous  reader,  and  dipped  more 
or  less  deeply  into  a  great  variety  of  books  on  widely 
diverse  subjects.  Professor  Lounsbury  has  noticed  the 
significant  fact  that  a  large  number  of  his  citations  and 
allusions  are  drawn  from  the  earlier  pages  of  a  work. 
In  his  reading,  as  in  his  writing,  his  curiosity  was  ever 
leading  him  into  new  courses ;  after  the  first  flush  of 
interest  was  spent,  he  found  it  hard  to  hold  himself 
down  to  the  completion  of  a  work  begun  with  all  enthu- 
siasm. In  his  mastery  of  foreign  languages,  too,  the 
same  trait  is  discoverable.  Though  he  read  Latin, 
French,  and  Italian  fluently,  he  is  often  guilty,  when 
held  down  to  the  stricter  work  of  translation,  of  rather 
serious  blunders.  It  is  but  fair  to  remember,  however, 
that  in  the  absence  of  adequate  lexicons  and  gram- 
mars, strict  verbal  accuracy  was  not  easy  of  attain- 
ment. Similarly,  when  we  catch  him  at  error  in  an 
allusion,  it  must  be  remembered  that  books  were  not 
then,  as  now,  readily  accessible,  and  that  even  a  pains- 
taking scholar,  which  Chaucer  certainly  was  not,  was 
obliged  to  trust  to  memory  much  more  than  was  al- 
ways safe.  Boccaccio,  who  made  much  greater  preten- 
sions to  scholarship  than  Chaucer,  was  capable  of  such 

1  See  Professor  Lonnsbury's  chapter  on  '  The  Learning  of  Chau- 
cer,' Studies  in  Chaucer,  2.  169-426. 


CHAUCER  33 

a  hybrid  coinage  as  Filostrato,  the  title  of  his  Troi- 
lus  romance,  which  he  took  to  mean  'laid  low  by  love;* 
and  the  ponderously  learned  Gower  was  not  aware  that 
Tullius  and  'Cithero'  were  one  and  the  same  per- 
son.1 In  view  of  this  last  slip,  it  may  surely  be  for- 
given to  Chaucer  if  he  similarly  fails  to  recognize  the 
identity  of  lulus  and  Ascanius.2  Chaucer's  works 
abound,  indeed,  with  inaccuracies  and  with  shocking 
anachronisms ;  but  so,  for  that  matter,  do  the  works  of 
Shakespeare.  Unfortunately,  however,  Chaucer  has  a 
thoroughly  mediaeval  love  of  parading  his  learning. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  serious  blemishes  in  his  art  that 
he  cannot  refrain  from  long  scholastic  digressions,  in 
which  he  heaps  up  authority  on  authority,  and  even 
suffers  his  personages  to  interrupt  a  passionate  speech 
with  an  explanation  of  some  obscure  term  needlessly 
introduced.3 

But  if  Chaucer,  despite  his  parade  of  learning,  did 
not  read  with  scholarly  thoroughness,  he  read  with  the 
fine  discrimination  of  the  literary  critic.  Nothing  can 
be  more  untrue  to  Chaucer  than  to  speak  of  him,  as  was 
long  the  fashion,  as  an  untutored  genius,  *  warbling 
his  native  wood-notes  wild,'  attaining  his  artistic  effects 
by  mere  happy  blunder  or  lucky  intuition.  He  was  a 
conscious  critic  of  his  own  work  and  of  the  work  of 
others.  There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  he  began 
the  series  of  '  tragedies '  known  to  us  as  the  Montis 
Tale,  in  all  good  faith  as  a  serious  work  of  art ;  but 
later,  when  he  incorporated  the  unfinished  series  into 
the  Canterbury  Tales,  he  had  already  recognized  its 
essential  literary  badness,  and  through  the  mouths  of 
the  Host  and  the  Knight  conveys  his  own  just  criti- 

1  Confessio  Amantis,  4.  2648  ;  7.  1588-1698. 

2  House  of  Fame,  177-178. 

8  Troilus  and  Criseyde,  5.  897-899. 


34  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

cism  of  the  work.  Similarly,  he  was  not  long  in  dis- 
covering the  inherent  flaw  in  the  scheme  of  the  Legend 
of  Good  Women,  and  abandoning  it  as  a  mistaken 
experiment.1  The  exquisite  burlesque  of  Sir  Thopas 
and  the  Host's  common-sense  criticism  thereon  show 
that  he  had  accurately  discerned  the  literary  extrava- 
gances of  the  widely  popular  romance  of  chivalry. 
Still  higher  proof  of  his  fine  literary  taste  is  furnished 
by  the  process  of  selection  and  rejection,  alteration  and 
addition,  with  which  he  utilizes  the  works  which  serve 
him  as  sources  for  his  compositions. 

The  eclectic  character  of  Chaucer's  artistic  procedure 
is  strikingly  shown  in  the  variety  of  his  experiments 
in  versification.  Metrically,  to  be  sure,  his  range  is 
very  limited ;  he  employs  normally  only  the  iambic 
rhythm ;  and,  save  in  Sir  Thopas,2  his  measure  is 
always  either  tetrameter  or  pentameter,  though  ample 
variety  is  attained  by  skillful  handling  of  the  pauses, 
by  not  infrequent  substitutions  of  trochee  or  dactyl  for 
the  normal  iambus,  by  large  use  of  the  feminine  ending, 
and  by  various  drawing  out  of  the  sense  from  one  verse 
into  another.  It  is  in  stanza  form  that  Chaucer  experi- 
mented widely.  Nine  tenths  or  more  of  his  verse  com- 
position is  in  one  of  three  stanzas,  —  the  octosyllabic 
couplet,  characteristic  of  his  earliest  or  French  period, 
though  reappearing  in  the  House  of  Fame ;  the  rime 
royal,  or  seven-line  stanza  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde, 
which  belongs  in  general  to  the  second  or  Italian  period ; 
and  the  heroic  couplet,  in  which  was  written  his  matur- 
est  work.  The  last  two  of  these  stanzas,  of  which  the 
first  continued  to  be  widely  employed  until  Shake- 
speare's youth,  and  the  second  is  rivaled  only  by  blank 

1  Cf.  below,  p.  145. 

a  Further  exception  should,  perhaps,  be  made  of  two  stanzas  in 
Anelida  and  Arcite  (lines  272-280,  333-341),  where  the  pentameter  is 
broken  up  by  internal  rimes. 


CHAUCER  35 

verse  in  use  and  popularity,  Chaucer  was  the  first  to 
introduce  into  English  literature.  In  his  mastery  of  all 
three  he  has  never  been  surpassed.  The  minor  poems 
display  several  other  stanzas.  If  the  rimes  of  the  seven- 
line  stanza  are  repeated  through  three  or  four  succes- 
sive stanzas,  we  get  the  balade  form  used  by  Chaucer 
so  effectively  in  Truth,  in  Gentilesse,  and  in  Lack  of 
Steadfastness.  In  the  A.  B.  C.  and  in  the  Monk's 
Tale  appears  an  eight-line  stanza,  with  rime-scheme 
ababbcbc,  which  Chaucer  apparently  abandoned  as  less 
pliable  than  the  seven-line  stanza  of  the  rime  royal. 
This  stanza,  with  the  addition  of  a  final  alexandrine 
riming  c,  becomes  the  famous  Spenserian  stanza  of 
the  Faerie  Queene.  The  Complaint  to  His  Lady  is 
little  more  than  an  exercise  in  versification.  The  poem 
begins  with  two  stanzas  of  the  rime  royal ;  then  shifts 
into  the  terza  rima  of  Dante,  employed  here  for  the 
first  time  in  English  verse,  and  ends  in  a  ten-line 
stanza  with  rime-scheme  aabaabcddc.  The  complaint 
inserted  into  Anelida  and  Arcite  is  a  highly  artificial 
arrangement  of  varying  stanzas,  with  strophe  and 
answering  antistrophe.  Still  another  artificial  form 
borrowed  from  France  is  the  triple  roundel  entitled 
Merciles  JBeaute,  with  which  should  be  grouped  the 
charming  roundel  introduced  into  the  Parliament  of 
Fowls.  When  it  is  remembered  that  in  some  of  these 
artificial  verse-forms  it  is  necessary  to  find  twelve 
words  riming  with  the  same  sound,  and  that  in  a  few 
instances  the  number  is  yet  greater,  Chaucer's  mastery 
of  the  art  of  riming  is  apparent ;  for  seldom  are  we 
conscious  of  any  constraint  due  to  the  exigencies  of 
rime. 

No  less  remarkable  is  the  breadth  and  variety  of 
Chaucer's  range,  when  his  work  is  looked  at  from  the 
standpoint  of  its  content.  Preeminently,  of  course,  his 


36  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

fame  rests  on  his  power  as  a  narrator,  the  power  to  tell 
an  interesting  story  supremely  well.  His  narrative 
method  is  characterized  by  straightforward  directness 
and  simplicity.  Ordinarily,  his  stories  have  a  single 
plot,  one  main  thread  of  interest,  which  is  taken  up  at 
the  beginning  and  followed  without  interruption  to  the 
end.  This  is  the  method  of  Boccaccio  and  of  medieval 
story-telling  in  general ;  it  is  the  method  which  Wil- 
liam Morris  adopted  in  his  Earthly  Paradise.  The 
method  of  the  modern  writer  of  short  stories  is  quite 
different  from  this,  since  his  purpose  is  usually  not  so 
much  to  narrate  a  series  of  happenings  as  to  create  a 
single  strong  impression.  His  story  will  not  begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  will  seldom  be  conducted  to  its  logi- 
cal end  ;  it  will  consist  of  a  series  of  striking  situations, 
presented  not  necessarily  in  their  chronological  order, 
with  just  so  much  of  narrative  as  may  be  necessary  to 
bind  these  situations  together  and  make  them  under- 
standable. To  this  modern  method  Chaucer  approxi- 
mates in  the  Pardoner's  Tale,  and  in  lesser  measure 
in  the  Knight's  Tale,1  from  which  the  reader  carries 
away  not  so  much  the  recollection  of  a  narrative  as  the 
vivid  memory  of  a  few  important  scenes.  Even  when 
Chaucer  clings  more  closely  to  the  mediaeval  method  of 
direct  narration,  he  achieves  a  somewhat  similar  effect 
by  a  subtle  shifting  of  emphasis.  If  one  compares  his 
stories  of  Virginia  and  of  Constance  with  their  originals, 
it  may  be  seen  how,  by  the  addition  of  a  few  skillful 
touches,  the  interest  of  narrative  has  been  subordinated 
to  the  strong  impression  of  a  noble  character.  With 
what  admirable  skill  Chaucer  could  handle  a  more  com- 
plicated plot,  in  which  two  independent  intrigues  are 
made  to  furnish  each  the  catastrophe  for  the  other, 
may  be  seen  in  the  conduct  of  the  JMiller's  Tale. 
1  Cf.  what  is  said  of  these  tales  below,  pp.  172,  227-230. 


CHAUCER  37 

No  less  brilliant  is  Chaucer's  art  in  description. 
From  the  merry  May  morning,  gay  with  singing  of 
birds  and  sounding  of  the  huntsman's  horn,  in  the 
Book  of  the  Duchess  to  the  matchless  series  of  por- 
traits in  the  Prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales,  the 
vividness  and  variety  of  Chaucer's  pictures  are  un- 
surpassed. It  were  idle  to  enumerate  them,  for  the 
reader's  memory  will  call  up  a  score  of  unforgettable 
scenes.  What  is  the  Knight's  Tale  but  a  splendidly 
pictured  tapestry,  full  of  color  and  motion  ?  Particu- 
larly remarkable  in  these  descriptions  is  their  scope 
and  breadth.  There  is  much  more  of  definiteness  than 
of  vagueness  in  Chaucer's  descriptive  method ;  yet  the 
mind  is  seldom  wearied  with  a  confusing  catalogue  of 
details.  A  few  significant  details  give  exactness  to  the 
picture,  while  suggesting  a  whole  realm  of  things  be- 
yond. It  is  as  though  a  veil  were  suddenly  withdrawn, 
letting  the  scene  burst  instantly  into  view.  Lowell  has 
called  attention  to  this  quality  of  suggestiveness  in  the 
description  at  the  beginning  of  the  Clertis  Tale :  — 

Ther  is,  at  the  west  syde  of  Itaille, 

Doun  at  the  rote  of  Vesulus  the  colde, 

A  lusty  playne,  habundant  of  vitaille, 

Wher  many  a  tour  and  toun  thou  mayst  biholde, 

That  founded  were  in  tyrae  of  fadres  olde, 

And  many  another  delitable  sighte, 

And  Saluces  this  noble  contree  highte. 

Though  not  primarily  a  reflective  poet,  Chaucer  is 
no  less  a  master  in  this  division  of  his  art.  Illustra- 
tions may  be  drawn  from  among  his  minor  poems, 
and  even  more  from  among  the  moralizing  passages 
of  Troilus  and  the  Canterbury  Tales.  The  House  of 
Fame,  too,  is  essentially  a  work  of  reflection,  though 
clothed  in  the  form  of  an  allegorical  narrative. 

Unfortunately,  Chaucer  never  wrote  a  drama;  but 


38  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

that  he  might  have  been,  had  the  dramatic  form  been 
developed  in  his  time,  one  of  the  foremost  of  English 
dramatists,  there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt.  A  master 
of  the  art  of  characterization,  skillful  in  his  handling 
of  dialogue,  delighting  in  action,  and  keenly  alive  to 
the  value  of  effective  situation  and  climax,  above  al] 
a  master  of  constructive  art,  he  is  a  dramatist  in 
all  but  the  fact.  Evident  in  many  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales,  and  still  more  manifest  in  the  story  of  the 
pilgrimage  itself,  this  dramatic  power  reaches  its  full- 
est expression  in  Troilus  and  Criseyde,  a  work  which 
is  better  dramatically  than  Shakespeare's  play  on  the 
same  theme.  The  five  books  into  which  the  poem  is 
disposed  correspond  accurately  to  the  five  acts  of  the 
drama ;  the  action  rises  to  a  climax  in  the  third  book, 
and  falls  to  a  catastrophe  in  the  fifth.  The  poem  con- 
sists of  a  series  of  dramatic  scenes ;  and  the  story  is 
carried  forward  almost  entirely  by  means  of  dialogue. 
The  characterization  of  Criseyde  is  as  subtle  as  any- 
thing in  Shakespeare;  and  Pandarus  is  hardly  less 
remarkable.  In  virtue  of  this  work  alone,  Chaucer 
has  an  unquestionable  right  to  be  considered  as  the 
forerunner  of  the  great  dramatic  literature  of  Eliza- 
beth and  James. 

After  considering  the  range  of  Chaucer's  power  in 
narrative  and  dramatic  art,  it  is  surprising  to  find  how 
limited  is  his  power  as  a  lyrist.  Though  in  the  Pri- 
oress's Tale,  in  the  Lawyer's  tale  of  Constance,  and 
in  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  there  is  a  distinctly  lyrical 
note,  Chaucer  seldom  enters  the  domain  of  the  lyric 
proper.  The  best  of  his  short  poems,  such  as  Truth, 
Gentilesse,  and  The  Former  Age,  are  reflective  rather 
than  lyrical,  while  the  love  poems,  though  charming 
in  their  way,  are  too  conventional  and  artificial  to 
touch  us  deeply.  Almost  alone  in  its  fresh  spontane- 


CHAUCER  39 

ity,  its  authentically  lyric  quality,  stands  the  roundel 
sung  by  the  choir  of  birds  at  the  end  of  the  Parlia* 
ment  of  Fowls.  Why  this  absence  of  lyric  power,  it 
is  hard  to  say.  In  the  age  of  Elizabeth  dramatic  and 
lyric  went  hand  in  hand.  The  fact  must  merely  be 
recorded  as  one  of  the  limitations  in  Chaucer's  genius. 

The  variety  and  breadth  of  Chaucer's  art  shows 
itself  again  in  his  wide  register  of  tone.  For  illustra- 
tion one  need  not  go  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Canter- 
bury Tales.  There  is  the  romantic  idealism  of  the 
KnighCs  Tale  and  the  high  religious  idealism  of 
the  Prioress's  Tale  side  by  side  with  the  Zolaesque 
realism  of  the  Miller  and  the  Reeve.  The  Wife  of 
Bath's  prologue  is  brutally  frank  in  its  realism ;  her 
tale  is  a  graceful  tale  of  faerie.  The  delightful  extrava- 
ganza of  Chanticleer  and  Partlet  is  introduced  by  a 
realistic  genre  painting  of  the  poor  widow's  cottage, 
worthy  of  Teniers  or  Gerard  Dou.  In  both  of  these 
manners  Chaucer  seems  equally  at  home.  The  doini^ 
nant  tone  in  the  Canterbury  Tales,  as  in  Chaucer's 
work  as  a  whole,  is  that  of  humor;  but  Chaucer's 
humor  is  as  protean  in  its  variety  as  any  other  of  his 
qualities.  It  ranges  from  broad  farce  and  boisterous 
horse-play  in  the  tales  of  the  Miller  and  the  Summoner 
to  the  sly  insinuations  of  the  Knight's  Tale  and  the 
infinitely  graceful  burlesque  of  Sir  Thopas.  Every  in- 
termediate stage  between  these  extremes  is  represented, 
the  most  characteristic  mean  between  the  two  being 
found,  perhaps,  in  the  tale  of  the  Nun's  Priest.  The 
only  constant  element  in  Chaucer's  humor  is  its  kind- 
liness, its  healthiness,  its  spontaneous  freshness. 

With  a  keen  sense  of  humor  is  usually  joined,  as  in 
Thackeray  and  Dickens,  a  deep  susceptibility  to  the 
pathetic,  and  Chaucer  is  no  exception  to  the  rule ;  but, 
unlike  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  he  knows  the  delicate 


40  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

line  which  separates  pathos  from  sentimentality,  and 
over  this  line  he  never  steps.  Troilus  as  he  eagerly 
watches  for  the  returning  form  of  Cressid,  Arcite  taking 
his  last  leave  of  his  kinsman  and  his  love,  Dorigen  as  she 
goes  to  keep  her  terrible  tryst,  Constance  comforting 
her  little  son,  Virginius  dooming  his  daughter  to  the  death 
that  shall  vindicate  her  honor,  Griselda  preparing  for  the 
wedding  feast  of  the  rival  who  is  to  supplant  her,  above 
all  the  matchless  story  of  the  murdered  schoolboy  singing 
his  Alma  Redemptoris  —  these  show  the  touch  of  pathos 
in  its  purest  form,  and  the  list  might  be  indefinitely 
extended.  In  any  one  of  these  instances  a  lesser  poet 
would  have  become  sentimental. 

To  the  sublimer  heights  of  tragedy  Chaucer  rarely 
ascends.  Though  the  Pardoner's  Tale  moves  us  to  tragic 
pity  and  fear,  it  does  this  rather  by  its  accessories  — 
the  dreadful  plague,  the  mysterious  veiled  figure,  the 
suddenness  of  its  catastrophe  —  than  by  any  working 
out  of  inevitable  moral  law.  Its  effect  is  not  so  much 
that  of  tragedy  as  of  superb  melodrama.  Chaucer  called 
his  Troilus  and  Criseyde  a  'tragedie,'  and  he  has  handled 
his  theme  in  the  spirit  of  tragedy  as  the  Middle  Ages 
understood  the  term.  The  story  moves  forward  relent- 
lessly to  an  ever  impending  doom.  But  the  poem  has  not 
the  intensity  of  great  tragedy.  Its  effect  is  rather  a 
blending  of  pathos  and  tragic  irony.  Troilus  has  sought 
and  achieved  a  great  happiness  which  turns  in  his  grasp 
to  the  bitterness  of  ashes.  So  it  must  ever  be,  Chaucer 
declares,  with  the  'false  felicity'  of  temporal  joy.  It  is 
Chaucer's  constant  sense  of  the  irony  of  life,  of  the  mock- 
ery which  our  ultimate  achievement  casts  on  rosy  expec- 
tation, that  dominates  his  more  serious  thought.  This 
irony  is  most  often  a  comic  irony;  but  at  times,  as  in 
Troilus  or  the  Pardoner's  Tale,  it  becomes  essentially 
tragic. 


CHAUCER  41 

What  is  this  world  ?  what  asketh  men  to  have  ? 
Now  with  his  love,  now  in  his  colde  grave 
Allone,  withouten  any  companye. 

The  author  of  these  lines  was  surely  capable  of  being 
serious ;  there  are  few  lines  in  our  literature  more  preg- 
nant with  the  tragedy  of  life.  But  this  note  is  never 
long  sustained ;  where  possible,  it  is  avoided  altogether. 
Capable  of  seriousness,  Chaucer  has  deliberately  chosen 
to  portray  the  world  through  the  medium  of  comedy. 

I  woot  myself  best  how  I  stonde, 

are  Chaucer's  words  when  he  refuses  to  compete  for 
the  favors  of  Lady  Fame.  I,  for  one,  am  ready  to 
believe  that  Chaucer  knew  his  own  powers  best,  and 
am  unwilling  to  quarrel  with  him  for  his  choice  of  the 
comic  spirit;  for  comedy  such  as  his  constitutes  a 
'  criticism  of  life  '  as  true  within  its  limits  as  that  of 
*  high  seriousness  '  and  the  '  grand  style.' 

Of  Chaucer's  style  it  will  not  do  to  talk  at  great 
length,  for  its  quality  can  be  felt  much  better  than 
it  can  be  analyzed.  It  is  so  delicate,  indeed,  that  any 
elaborate  analysis  seems  in  the  nature  of  an  imperti- 
nence. It  is  characterized  preeminently  by  its  simpli- 
city. Though  for  his  metre's  sake  the  poet  affects  a 
slight  archaism  in  the  preservation  of  the  final  e,  which 
was  already  beginning  to  disappear,  his  words  are  the 
words  of  e  very-day  life.  His  sentences  are  short  and 
loose,  simple  in  their  structure,  free  from  awkward  in- 
versions and  from  any  studied  balance  or  antithesis.  As 
his  diction  is  simple,  so  is  his  thought.  In  his  later 
work,  at  least,  there  is  an  almost  complete  absence  of 
the  strained  conceits,  the  far-fetched  metaphors,  and 
elaborate  puns,  which  mar  much  of  Shakespeare's 
work ;  and  this  is  the  more  remarkable  when  one 
remembers  Chaucer's  reverence  for  the  authority  of 


42  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Petrarch.    Once  in  the  Franklin's  Tale,  he  finds  him- 
self  betrayed  into  an  overwrought  metaphor  :  — 
For  th'orisonte  hath  reft  the  sonne  his  light. 

Instead  of  canceling  the  line,  he  lets  it  stand,  and 
adds : — 

This  is  as  nmclie  to  seye  as  it  was  night. 

To  read  Chaucer  is  to  listen  to  the  charming,  gracious 
conversation  of  a  cultured  gentleman  who  is  also  a 
poet.  At  times  his  language  is  as  terse  and  pregnant  as 
any  in  Shakespeare.  Such  is  the  line  in  the  Knight's 
Tale  which  shows  us 

The  smyler  with  the  knyf  under  the  cloke. 

But  ordinarily  he  has  leisure  to  give  his  thought  full 
expression.  He  has  '  the  power  of  diffusion  without 
being  diffuse.'  His  stories  tell  themselves  away  with- 
out apparent  effort,  even  without  apparent  art,  without 
hurry,  but  without  delay. 

A  povre  widwe,  somdel  stope  in  age, 
Was  whylom  dwelling  in  a  narwe  cotage, 
Bisyde  a  grove,  stonding  in  a  dale. 
This  widwe,  of  which  I  telle  you  my  tale  — 

There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  these  lines  ;  but  they 
are  the  very  essence  of  literature,  and  no  one  can  resist 
their  charm. 

If  Chaucer's  style  is  marked  by  naturalness  and 
simplicity,  let  no  one  suppose  that  it  is  a  careless  style. 
Artless  as  his  lines  seem,  they  are  full  of  that  high- 
est art  which  effaces  itself.  In  his  perfect  finish,  his 
unassuming  elegance,  Chaucer  is  essentially  Gallic, 
one  may  almost  say  Hellenic.  With  all  his  simplicity, 
there  is  a  quiet  energy,  a  sureness  of  touch,  a  delicacy 
of  perception,  which  betray  the  master  mind.  Above 
all,  there  is  in  Chaucer's  style,  as  in  the  man  himself, 


CHAUCER  43 

a  sanity  and  poise,  a  calm  equanimity,  which  render  it 
peculiarly  grateful  to  the  ears  of  our  modern  world, 
wearied  with  much  wild  talking. 

No  one  will  pretend,  I  suppose,  that  Chaucer  is  a  poet 
of  the  first  rank.  He  is  not  a  great  prophet  like  Dante, 
with  a  burning  message  which  he  must  deliver ;  only 
rarely  does  he  move  one's  whole  emotional  and  moral 
nature  as  does  Shakespeare.  Though  sharing  in  the 
fresh  spontaneity  which  makes  the  Homeric  poems  a 
perpetual  solace,  he  has  not  Homer's  majesty ;  nor  does 
he  attain  to  the  dignity  and  elegance  of  Virgil.  As 
a  comedian  he  will  hardly  rank  with  Cervantes  and 
Moliere.  In  intellect  and  in  art  he  is  inferior  to  all 
these ;  but  among  poets  of  the  second  rank  his  posi- 
tion is  high.  In  the  list  of  English  poets  other  than 
Shakespeare,  Milton  is  the  only  one  who  may  be  held 
to  surpass  him ;  and  between  two  men  so  dissimilar  in 
their  powers  one  will  hesitate  to  determine  the  preem- 
inence. 

The  qualities  which  make  for  Chaucer's  greatness 
have  already  been  reviewed  in  the  preceding  pages,  and 
will  be  considered  again  in  more  detail  as  they  mani- 
fest themselves  in  individual  works,  in  the  chapters 
which  follow ;  but  the  quality  which  distinguishes  him 
preeminently  is  his  sanity  and  poise.  With  the  possible 
exception  of  Shakespeare,  there  is  no  English  poet  of 
power  even  commensurate  with  Chaucer's,  who  is  so 
eminently  sane.  We  are  living  in  an  age  which  is  rest- 
less, in  many  respects  unhealthy,  insane.  On  one  side 
of  us  is  the  dull  sway  of  materialism,  commercialism, 
money-getting ;  on  the  other  side  we  still  hear  the  fran- 
tic protests  of  a  Carlyle  and  a  Ruskin,  the  revolution- 
ary rhapsodies  of  a  Byron  or  a  Shelley,  we  listen  to  the 
persistent  self-analyses  of  a  Wordsworth  or  a  Coleridge, 
or  to  the  beautiful  but  morbid  imaginings  of  a  Keats ; 


44  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

or,  coming  nearer  to  the  present  day,  we  hearken  to  the 
strange  dreamings  of  a  Maeterlinck  or  the  unsparing 
iconoclasnis  of  an  Ibsen.  I  would  not  for  a  moment 
be  thought  insensible  to  the  greatness  of  these  men ; 
I  insist  merely  that  with  all  their  varied  greatness 
there  is  infused  a  strain  which  is  morbid  and  unhealthy. 
The  eighteenth  century  had  sanity  without  poetry ;  the 
nineteenth  had  poetry  without  sanity ;  Chaucer,  like 
the  great  Greeks,  combined  both. 

We  turn  to  Chaucer  not  primarily  for  moral  guid- 
ance and  spiritual  sustenance,  nor  yet  that  our  emotions 
may  be  deeply  and  powerfully  moved  ;  we  turn  to  him 
rather  for  refreshment,  that  our  eyes  and  ears  may 
be  opened  anew  to  the  varied  interest  and  beauty  of 
the  world  around  us,  that  we  may  come  again  into 
healthy  living  contact  with  the  smiling  green  earth 
and  with  the  hearts  of  men,  that  we  may  shake  off 
for  a  while  'the  burthen  of  the  mystery  of  all  this 
unintelligible  world,'  and  share  in  the  kindly  laughter 
of  the  gods,  that  we  may  breathe  the  pure,  serene 
air  of  equanimity. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 

IT  is  thoroughly  in  accord  with  what  we  know  of  Chau- 
cer's innate  modesty  that  his  first  serious  undertaking 
in  literature  should  have  been  a  translation  rather  than 
an  original  work ;  and  surely  no  better  exercise  than 
that  of  translation  could  have  been  found  to  develop 
a  technical  mastery  of  poetic  form.  The  poem  which 
Chaucer  chose  to  translate  was  the  widely  popular 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  a  work  which  offered  a  broad  and 
varied  scope  to  the  young  poet's  powers  of  expression, 
and  was,  moreover,  thoroughly  congenial  to  his  tastes 
and  sympathies. 

Though  the  Chaucerian  Romaunt  of  the,  Rose  ex- 
tends to  the  no  mean  length  of  7698  lines,  it  reproduces 
less  than  a  third  of  its  French  original,  for  T^  French 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose  contains  in  Meon's  Poem- 
edition  22,047  lines  of  octosyllabic  couplets.  Of  these, 
lines  1-5169  and  10716-12564  alone  are  translated. 
But  if  the  English  translation  is  only  a  fragment  of  its 
original,  Chaucer's  familiarity  with  the  whole  poem,  and 
the  influence  which  it  exerted  upon  him,  are  so  great, 
that  the  poem  in  its  entirety  is  of  the  first  importance 
to  the  student  of  Chaucer's  work. 

The  Roman  de  la  Rose  is  the  work  not  of  a  single 
author,  but  of  two  authors,  of  two  successive  genera- 
tions, utterly  unlike  in  their  ideals  and  temperaments. 
Of  the  first  of  these,  Guillaume  de  Lorris,  whose  work 
extends  to  line  4068,  we  know  very  little ;  and  for  that 
little  we  are  indebted  to  the  second  poet,  Jean  de  Meun, 


46  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

who  continued  his  work.  From  the  statements  of  the 
younger  author  we  are  able  to  calculate  that  Guillaume 
must  have  been  born  about  the  year  1200,  and  that 
the  composition  of  the  poem  must  have  fallen  between 
the  years  1225  and  1230.  His  work  is  supposed  to 
have  been  terminated  by  his  early  death.  Of  the  place 
of  his  birth  and  of  his  residence  we  do  not  know.  The 
little  town  of  Lorris  is  a  few  miles  east  of  Orleans; 
and  Guillaume's  name  may  indicate  that  as  his  birth- 
place ;  but  we  cannot  be  sure.  If,  as  seems  probable, 
he  was  a  clerk,  his  education  may  have  been  received 
either  at  Orleans  or  at  Paris.  His  dialect  shows  that 
he  lived  in  the  north  of  France ;  but  in  the  absence 
of  any  critical  edition  of  the  Roman,  it  is  impossible 
to  be  more  exact. 

Of  Jean  de  Meun,  who  forty  years  after  Guillaume's 
death  undertook  the  continuation  of  his  unfinished  work, 
we  know  somewhat  more.  Jean  Clopinel  was  born  at 
Meun-sur-Loire,  and  died  before  November  6, 1305,  on 
which  date  his  comfortable  house  in  Paris  was  deeded 
to  the  Dominicans  of  the  rue  St.  Jacques.  Since  it  can 
be  shown  from  internal  evidence  that  his  continuation 
of  the  Roman  was  written  between  1268  and  1277,  M. 
Langlois  fixes  on  the  year  1240  as  the  approximate  date 
of  his  birth.  From  his  own  statement  in  another  work 
we  learn  that  his  life  was  an  honorable  and  prosperous 
one,  and  that  it  had  been  his  fortune  to  serve  *  les  plus 
granz  genz  de  France.'  He  was  an  excellent  scholar, 
widely  read  in  Latin  and  French,  and  the  author  of 
several  works,  among  which  may  be  mentioned  a  trans- 
lation of  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy  of  Boethius, 
a  book  to  which  he  is  deeply  indebted  in  the  Roman 
de  la  Rose. 

Two  men  more  dissimilar  in  character  than  the 
authors  of  the  Roman  it  would  be  hard  to  find. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE   ROSE  47 

Gnillaume  is  essentially  an  idealist,  a  purist,  cherishing 
the  fair  ideal  of  Middle  Age  chivalry,  living  in  a  world 
of  dream  and  shadows.  To  him  love  is  the  great  in- 
fluence which  ennobles  and  purifies  the  human  heart, 
woman  is  a  superior,  well-nigh  perfect  being,  little 
short  of  the  divine,  in  whose  service  man  may  well 
expend  all  in  him  that  is  best  and  highest.  His  poem 
is  a  love  story  and  a  courtly  treatise  on  the  art  of  love. 
Five  years  and  more  ago,  he  tells  us,  as  he  lay  on  his 
bed  one  May  morning,  he  dreamed  a  wondrous  dream. 
In  this  dream  he  wandered  out  through  the  flowering 
fields,  with  the  birds  singing  all  about  him,  and  came 
at  last  to  a  great  garden  all  walled  about,  the  garden 
of  love.  In  the  midst  of  the  garden,  hard  by  the  foun- 
tain of  Narcissus,  stands  a  goodly  rose  tree,  on  which 
grows  a  bud  which  the  poet  longs  earnestly  to  pluck. 
This  is  the  allegorical  device  by  which  the  poet  shadows 
forth  his  love  for  the  lady  of  his  desire.  The  porter 
at  the  gate  of  the  garden  is  Idleness.  The  dramatis 
persona  are,  save  the  poet  himself,  such  abstractions 
as  Largesse,  Fair- Welcome,  Evil-Tongue,  Jealousy, 
and  Danger,  or  haughtiness.  When  allegory  is  but  a 
literary  device,  it  is  always  dangerous ;  but  Guillaume 
thought  in  terms  of  allegory,  and  his  allegorical  per- 
sonages, if  shadowy,  are  none  the  less  true  and  effec- 
tive. Guillaume  de  Lorris  is  not  a  great  poet ;  but  he 
is  a  good  poet,  and  one  can  hardly  fail  to  enjoy  the 
quiet  loveliness  of  his  work. 

Jean  de  Meun  is  of  quite  a  different  stamp,  so  differ- 
ent, indeed,  that  it  seems  a  mere  caprice  that  he  should 
have  undertaken  the  continuation  of  such  a  poem  as 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  If  Guillaume  de  Lorris  is  a 
conservative  and  an  idealist,  Jean  de  Meun  is  a  realist 
and  a  revolutionist.  To  him  the  chivalric  ideal  is  mere 
nonsense.  In  his  democratic  creed  noble  birth  is  but  an 


48  THE  POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

accident ;  personal  worth  is  the  only  patent  of  true  no- 
bility. Woman  is  a  vain  and  fickle  creature,  a  snare  for 
men's  feet.  Love  is  but  a  game  played  for  the  prize  of 
sensual  gratification.  In  crossing  the  line  which  divides 
the  work  of  the  two  authors,  the  reader  plunges  into  a 
totally  different  atmosphere.  Jean  de  Meun  has  kept  to 
the  machinery  of  Guillaume's  poem;  the  same  allegori- 
cal personages  pass  before  us  ;  the  quest  of  the  rose  still 
remains  the  ostensible  theme  of  the  poem ;  but  the  poet 
uses  the  framework  merely  as  a  device  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  his  own  ideas.  There  are  long  digressions  on 
various  topics,  philosophical  and  theological,  wearisome 
because  of  their  prolixity,  but  excellent  in  their  rea- 
soning, and  terse  and  effective  in  their  diction.  There 
are  bitter  tirades  against  the  frailty  of  woman,  and 
merciless  attacks  against  the  corruption  of  the  clergy. 
Jean  de  Meun's  method  in  his  satirical  passages  is  of  pe- 
culiar interest  to  the  student  of  Chaucer;  for  it  is  the 
very  method  so  effectively  employed  in  the  Canterbury 
Tales.  In  the  person  of  False-Seeming,  one  of  the  most 
masterful  of  Jean  de  Meun's  characterizations  and  the 
prototype  of  Chaucer's  Friar  and  Pardoner,  a  friar 
himself  is  made  to  expose,  proudly  and  boastfully,  the 
iniquities  of  his  order ;  while  in  the  person  of  the  Du- 
enna, who  becomes  in  Chaucer's  hands  the  genial  Wife 
of  Bath,  is  exhibited  all  the  sensuality  and  cunning 
craft  which  constitutes  Jean  de  Meun's  idea  of  woman. 
In  Guillaume  de  Lorris  one  is  conscious  of  a  sweet 
and  noble  personality,  coupled  with  a  fairly  true  sense 
of  artistic  form  and  poetical  expression.  One  cannot 
read  a  thousand  lines  of  Jean  Clopinel  without  realiz- 
ing that  he  has  to  do  with  a  masterful  intellect.  His 
personality  is  not  lovable,  but  commanding.  Unques- 
tionably inferior  to  Guillaume  in  artistic  form,  —  for 
his  work  seems  often  a  mere  hodge-podge  of  ideas, — he 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  49 

as  unquestionably  surpasses  him  in  range  and  in  intel- 
lectual scope.  For  the  graceful  delicacy  of  Guillaume's 
diction,  Jean  de  Meun  offers  a  nervous,  incisive,  yet 
polished  style,  which  is  as  superior  to  that  of  Guil- 
laurae  as  is  Shakespeare  to  Spenser. 

This  strange  composite  poem  exerted  in  its  own  cen- 
tury, and  in  the  two  centuries  following,  an  enormous 
influence  on  the  literature  of  Northern  Europe,  and  no 
inconsiderable  influence  south  of  the  Alps.  Its  wide 
circulation  is  attested  by  the  fact  that  nearly  two  hun- 
dred manuscript  copies  have  survived  to  the  present 
day,  many  of  which  are  found  in  England  and  in 
Germany.  It  was  early  translated  into  Flemish  and 
into  Italian,  while  somewhat  later  appeared  the  Eng- 
lish version  which  is  the  subject  of  this  chapter.  In 
France  it  was  kept  before  the  public  eye  by  its  bitter 
antagonists  no  less  than  by  its  enthusiastic  admirers. 
It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  for  two  hun- 
dred years  no  important  French  author  escaped  its 
influence.  In  England  its  vogue  was  little  less  exten- 
sive. Without  its  suggestion  Chaucer  would  not  have 
been  Chaucer,  and  English  literature  would  have  fol- 
lowed a  different  channel. 

The  reasons  for  this  widespread  popularity  and  far- 
reaching  influence  are  not  hard  to  fathom.  The  Ro- 
man is  not,  as  is  sometimes  asserted,  a  great  original 
creation.  Guillaume  did  not  invent  the  dream-vision 
form  nor  the  use  of  allegory,  any  more  than  Petrarch 
invented  the  sonnet ;  the  revolutionary  doctrines  of 
Jean  de  Meun  did  not  spring  unbegotten  from  his 
own  brain.  Those  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  read  M. 
Ernest  Langlois's  monograph1  on  the  subject  will  find 
that  every  significant  feature  of  the  poem  is  pai*alleled 
in  earlier  works.  The  great  achievement  of  Guillaume 
*  Origines  et  Sources  du  Roman  de  la  Rose,  Paris,  1890. 


50  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

de  Lorris  and  Jean  de  Meun  is  that  they  assimilated 
and  then  crystallized  into  masterful  poetic  expression 
a  literary  form  and  a  set  of  ideas  which  were  already 
current  and  popular.  Without  Petrarch  the  sonnet 
might  still  have  survived  as  a  literary  form;  but  it 
could  hardly  have  achieved  the  great  vogue  which  it 
attained  through  his  authority.  It  is  a  general  law  in 
literature  that  widespread  and  long-continued  popu- 
larity is  possible  only  when  an  idea  already  popular 
receives  permanent  expression  at  the  hands  of  a  master. 
The  Roman  de  la  Rose  was  immediately  recognized 
as  such  a  masterpiece,  and  became  the  medium  through 
which  was  effectively  transmitted  an  influence  which 
might  otherwise  have  spent  itself  ineffectually  in  a 
couple  of  generations.  Another  source  of  its  wide  ap- 
peal may  be  found  in  the  fact  of  its  dual  and  diverse 
authorship.  The  poem  took  its  rise  just  before  the 
dawn  of  the  Renaissance.  During  the  centuries  which 
immediately  followed,  two  tendencies,  the  medieval  and 
the  modern,  were  existing  side  by  side.  To  those  who 
clung  to  the  old  ideals,  Guillaume  de  Lorris  made  a 
strong  appeal ;  while  the  free-thinkers  of  the  Renais- 
sance could  not  but  recognize  a  kindred  soul  in  Jean 
de  Meun.  The  poem  was  wide  enough  in  its  scope  to 
appeal  to  all.  Chaucer,  for  example,  who  exhibits  in 
his  own  development  the  transition  from  the  medi- 
seval  to  the  modern,  was  first  attracted  by  Guillaume 
de  Lorris,  and  only  later  felt  the  full  influence  of  Jean 
de  Meun. 

The  chief  interest  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  for  the 
modern  student  lies  in  this  its  historical  significance  as 
an  expression  of  the  varying  ideals  of  the  later  Middle 
Ages ;  but  it  has  its  absolute  interest  as  well.  Any  one 
who  will  read  the  poem  through,  either  in  the  French 
original  or  in  the  excellent  English  translation  by  Mr- 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  51 

F.  S.  Ellis,1  will  find  many  passages  of  vivid  and  charm- 
ing description,  of  keen  analysis,  of  telling  satire,  of 
much  vital  human  interest,  and  of  true  literary  power, 
to  repay  him  for  the  many  hours  which  even  a  hurried 
reading  will  demand.2 

The  English  translation  of  the  Roman  de  la  jRone, 
which  is  preserved  in  a  single  manuscript  The  English 
in  the  Hunterian  collection  at  Glasgow,  was  Version. 
first  included  among  Chaucer's  works  in  Thynne's  edi- 
tion of  1532,3  and  was  until  1870  universally  accepted 
as  a  genuine  work  of  Chaucer.  Since  that  date  the 
question  of  its  authenticity  has  been  one  of  the  most 
vexed  problems  of  Chaucerian  scholarship ;  and  even 
to-day  scholars  are  not  in  full  accord  as  to  the  solution. 

That  Chaucer  made  a  translation  of  some  portion  at 
least  of  the  Roman,  we  know  on  Chaucer's  own  author- 
ity. In  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women 
(JB  version,  328-331),  the  god  of  love  says  to  Chaucer : — 

For  in  pleyn  text,  withouten  nede  of  glose, 
Thou  hast  translated  the  Romaunce  of  the  Rose, 
That  is  an  heresye  ageyns  my  lawe, 
And  makest  wyse  folk  fro  me  withdrawe.4 

1  London,  1900.   (The  Temple  Classics  Series,  J.  M.  Dent  &  Co.   3 
vols.) 

2  The  best  editions  of  the  French  text  are  those  of  M.  Me'on,  Paris, 
1814,  and  F.  Michel,  Paris,  1864.   A  new  edition,  which  will  doubtless 
supersede  these,  is  promised  by  M.  Ernest  Langlois.   The  best  literary 
study  of  the  Roman  is  that  by  M.  Langlois  in  the  second  volume  of 
Histoire  de  la  Langue  et  de  la  Litterature  franqaise,  published  under  the 
direction  of  M.  Petit  de  Julleville,  Paris,  1896.    Shorter  and  less  de- 
tailed, but  highly  suggestive,  is  the  chapter  devoted  to  the  Roman  in 
La  Litterature  franqaise  au  Moyen  Age,  by  Gaston  Paris,  Paris,  1890. 
Reference  has  been  made  in  a  previous  note  to  M.  Langlois's  Origines 
et  Sources  du  Roman  de  la  Rose,  Paris,  1890. 

8  Thynne  printed  from  a  manuscript  now  lost,  which,  though  some- 
what more  accurate  than  the  Hunterian  MS.,  does  not  differ  markedly 
from  it. 

4  Lydgate,  moreover,  in  the  Fall  of  Princes,  mentions  the  translation 
among  other  works  of  Chaucer :  — 


62  THE  POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

Two  questions  at  once  suggest  themselves :  Did  Chau- 
cer ever  complete  his  translation  ?  Is  the  fragmentary 
translation  which  we  possess  the  work  of  Chaucer  ?  The 
first  of  these  questions  may  be  pretty  safely  answered  in 
the  negative.  In  the  first  place,  the  translation  of  so 
long  a  poem  is  a  laborious  and  tedious  task ;  and  Chau- 
cer, as  we  well  know,  was  only  too  likely  to  weary  of  an 
undertaking  before  it  was  half  completed.  In  the  second 
place,  had  so  popular  a  poet  as  Chaucer  completed  a 
translation  of  so  popular  a  poem  as  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose,  it  is  highly  improbable  that  the  work  would 
have  been  allowed  to  perish.1 

The  first  scholar  to  raise  the  second  question,  that 
as  to  Chaucer's  authorship  of  the  existing  English  ver- 
sion, was  the  late  Professor  F.  J.  Child  of  Harvard, 
in  a  communication  to  the  At/ienceum  for  December  3, 
1870 :  '  I  may  add,  that  it  will  take  a  great  deal  more 
than  the  fact  that  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  is  printed 
in  old  editions,  to  make  me  believe  that  it  is  Chaucer's. 
The  rhymes  are  not  his,  and  the  style  is  not  his,  unless 
he  changed  both  extraordinarily  as  he  got  on  in  life. 
The  translation  is  often  in  a  high  degree  slovenly.  The 
part  after  the  break,  from  v.  5814  on,  seemed  to  me,  on 
a  recent  comparison  with  the  French,  better  done  than 
the  middle  ;  and  as  the  Bialacoil  of  the  earlier  portion 
is  here  called  Fair-welcomyng, perhaps  this  part  belongs 
to  a  different  version.' 

Professor  Child  did  not  pursue  the  question  any  fur- 
ther ;  and  it  was  several  years  before  any  detailed  argu- 

And  notably  [he]  did  his  businesse 
By  great  auise  his  wittes  to  dispose, 
To  translate  the  Homaynt  of  the  Rose. 

Quoted  by  Skeat,  1.  23. 

1  It  is,  perhaps,  worthy  of  remark  that  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  list  of  works  of  evil  tendency  which  Chaucer  repents  of 
having  written  in  the  '  retractation '  at  the  end  of  the  Parson's  Tale. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  53 

ment  against  the  Chaucerian  authorship  appeared  in 
print.  It  was  nearly  twenty  years  before  the  impor- 
tant hint  contained  in  his  last  sentence  received  fur- 
ther elaboration.  The  first  important  document  in  the 
controversy  appeared  from  the  pen  of  Skeat  in  1880,1 
in  which  the  argument  against  Chaucer's  authorship 
of  the  translation  is  based  mainly  on  three  grounds : 
(1)  The  presence  in  the  translation  of  imperfect  rimes, 
particularly  the  riming  of  words  ending  in  -y  with 
words  ending  in  -ye,  such  as  do  not  appear  in  the  poet's 
unquestioned  works  ;  (2)  the  occurrence  of  words  which 
belong  distinctly  to  a  dialect  more  northern  than  that 
of  Chaucer ;  (3)  differences  in  the  vocabulary  of  the 
translation  from  the  vocabulary  of  Chaucer.2 

Though  the  argument  against  Chaucer's  authorship 
of  the  translation  did  not  pass  unchallenged,3  nothing 
more  of  importance  appeared  till  1888,  when  it  was 
clearly  proved  that  Child  had  been  right  in  suspecting 
that  the  portion  of  the  translation  which  follows  the 
break  at  line  5810  is  not  by  the  author  of  the  earlier 
portion.4 

1  Chaucer's  Prioress's  Tale,  etc.,  third  edition,  Oxford,  1880.    The 
essay  is  reprinted  in  the  Chaucer  Society's  volume  of  Essays  on  Chau- 
cer, pp.  439-451.  That  the  question  had  already  been  discussed  is  shown 
by  Thomas  Arnold's  communication  to  The  Academy,  July  20,  1878, 
pp.  66,  67,  and  Skeat's  answer,  The  Academy,  August  10,  1878,  p.  143. 

2  Of  these  arguments,  the  third  is  least  sound.   Cf .  an  article  by  Pro- 
fessor Cook  in  Modern  Language  Notes,  2.  143-146  (1887). 

8  The  most  important  dissenting  voice  was  that  of  Fick  in  Englische 
Studien,  9.  161-167  (1886),  who  argued  that  the  impure  rimes  and 
northern  forms  were  to  be  explained  on  the  ground  that  the  translation 
was  a  work  of  Chaucer's  youth. 

*  F.Lindner  in  Englische  Studien,  11. 163-173.  The  argument  is  based 
on  rime,  on  the  change  from  Bialacoil  to  Fair-welcomyng,  noticed  by 
Child,  and  on  a  number  of  false  translations  in  the  second  part.  Lind- 
ner is  not  ready  to  attribute  either  section  to  Chaucer,  but  favors  the 
first  rather  than  the  second.  His  article  is  in  many  particulars  invali- 
dated by  the  more  thorough  investigations  of  Kaluza.  (See  below.)  In 
a  review  of  Kaluza's  work  in  Englische  Studien,  18.  104-105,  Lindner 


54  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

In  the  years  1892  and  1893  the  controversy  reached 
its  culmination.  In  his  Studies  in  Chaucer,1  pub- 
lished in  1892,  Professor  Lounsbury  combated  stoutly 
and  at  great  length  the  arguments  against  Chaucer's 
authorship  of  the  whole  translation ;  and  in  the  same 
year  he  was  ably  answered  by  Professor  Kittredge.2  In 
the  year  following,  1893,  the  whole  question  was  put 
upon  a  new  footing,  and  all  preceding  arguments  were 
in  a  measure  invalidated  by  Professor  Kaluza.3  It  is 
unnecessary  to  reproduce  here  in  detail  Kaluza's  argu- 
ments, which  a  serious  student  of  the  question  will  read 
for  himself ;  his  conclusions  alone  need  detain  us.  He 
has  shown  conclusively  that  the  existing  Romaunt  of 
the  Rose  consists,  not,  as  Child  guessed  and  Lindner 
proved,  of  two  dissimilar  fragments,  but  of  three.  The 
first  (Fragment  A),  including  lines  1-1705,  contains 
nothing  in  rime,  dialect,  or  vocabulary  to  prevent  ita 
attribution  to  Chaucer.  The  second  (Fragment  B), 
lines  1705-5810,  is  much  less  faithful  in  its  following 
of  the  French  text,  and  includes  within  its  limits  nearly 
all  of  the  false  rimes  and  northern  forms  which  had 
led  earlier  scholars  to  reject  the  whole  translation. 
Fragment  C,  lines  5811  to  end,  returns  in  method  of 
translation  and  in  style  to  the  manner  of  Fragment  A, 

gracefully  admits  his  errors,  and  assents  fully  to  Kaluza's  position. 
See  Skeat's  communication  to  The  Academy  for  September  8,  1888, 
pp.  153, 154. 

1  Vol.  ii,  pp.  3-166.   Professor  Lounsbury  has  never  retreated  from 
the  position  here  maintained.    He  is,  as  far  as  the  present  writer  knows, 
the  only  scholar  who  still  asserts  the  Chaucerian  authorship  of  the 
whole  translation. 

2  Harvard  Studies  and  Notes  in  Philology  and  Liter  attire,  1. 1-65.  See 
also  Skeat  in  The  Academy  for  February  27,  1892,  pp.  206,  207. 

8  Chaucer  und  der  Rosenroman,  Berlin,  1893.  Kaluza  had  previously 
communicated  his  discoveries  to  Furnivall,  who  in  turn  communicated 
them  to  The  Academy  for  July  5, 1890,  p.  11.  See  also  Skeat's  commu- 
nications to  the  same  paper  for  July  19,  1890  (pp.  51,  52),  and  August 
15,  1891  (p.  137). 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  55 

and  contains  only  a  small  number  of  questionable  rimes 
and  forms.  Dr.  Kaluza  reaches  the  conclusion  that 
Fragments  A  and  C  are  the  work  of  Chaucer,  and  that 
Fragment  B  is  the  work  of  an  unknown  poet  of  north- 
ern dialect,  who,  imitating  as  well  as  he  could  the  man- 
ner of  Chaucer,  set  himself  to  complete  Chaucer's 
unfinished  work.1  The  main  contentions  of  Kaluza's 
study  have  been  pretty  generally  accepted ;  and  most 
scholars  now  agree  that  Fragment  A  is  by  Chaucer,  and 
that  Fragment  B  certainly  is  not.  About  Fragment  C 
there  is  still  much  dispute,  Professor  Skeat  declining  to 
accept  it  as  Chaucer's.2  The  present  writer  is  inclined 
to  agree  with  Kaluza  in  thinking  it  genuine.8 

It  may  be  held  as  fairly  certain,  then,  that,  intimate 
as  was  Chaucer's  acquaintance  with  the  whole  of  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  and  great  as  was  the  influence  it 
exerted  upon  him,  he  executed  but  a  small  part  of  his 
projected  translation  of  the  work,  and  that  his  unfin- 
ished version  was  later  continued  by  some  poet  of 
Chaucer's  school. 

It  remains  to  ask  at  what  period  of  his  career  Chau- 
cer's fragmentary  translation  was  made.  While  the 
whole  of  the  existing  translation  was  held  as  Chaucer's 
work,  its  imperfect  rimes  led  students  to  attribute  it 

1  In  Essays  on  Chaucer,  published  by  the  Chaucer  Society,  pp.  675-683, 
Skeat  assigns  the  dialect  of  Fragment  B  to  '  some  county  not  far  from 
the  Humber,  as  Lancashire,  Yorkshire,  or  Lincolnshire.'    The  date  of 
the  fragment  he  thinks  to  be  later  than  1400  and  earlier  than  1440.   It 
has  recently  been  urged  by  J.  H.  Lange  in  Englische  Studien,  29.  397- 
405  (1901),  that  the  author  of  Fragment  B  is  Chaucer's  disciple  Lyd- 
gate.   The  argument  is  plausible,  but  not  conclusive.   Skeat  has  shown 
( Athenceum,  June  6,    1896,  p.  747)  that  Lydgate  was  acquainted  with 
Fragment  A. 

2  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  1-20. 

8  The  latest  attempt  to  prove  Chaucer's  authorship  for  the  whole 
translation  is  that  of  Miss  Louise  Pound  in  Modern  Language  Notes,  11. 
92-102  (1896).  The  argument,  which  is  based  on  the  sentence-length 
in  Chaucer's  genuine  poems  and  in  the  Itomaunt,  is  hardly  convincing. 


56  THE  POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

to  the  earliest  period  of  the  poet's  activity.  When,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  whole  work  was  considered  spuri- 
ous, this  argument  ceased  to  operate,  and  the  fact  that 
the  Romaunt  is  mentioned  in  the  Prologue  to  the 
Legend  of  Good  Women  in  close  association  with 
the  Troilus  led  Ten  Brink  to  the  conclusion  that 
Chaucer's  supposedly  lost  translation  belonged  to  a 
period  only  slightly  earlier  than  his  Troilus.1  To 
this  conclusion  Kaluza  also  assents.2  Though  the  ques- 
tion probably  is  not  capable  of  final  proof,  the  present 
writer  is  inclined  to  hold  to  the  earlier  view,  that  Chau- 
cer's translation  belongs  to  the  period  of  his  youth. 
Though  the  portions  of  the  work  which  may  be  attrib- 
uted to  Chaucer  are  of  a  high  degree  of  excellence, 
easy  and  spirited,3  they  have  not  the  power  of  his 
maturer  work.  The  translation  is  a  good  one,  but  not 
a  great  one.  There  are,  moreover,  in  Fragment  C  at 
least,  a  number  of  imperfect  rimes  that  can  be  accepted 
as  Chaucer's  only  on  the  assumption  that  the  work  is 
immature.  Finally,  it  seems  inherently  more  probable 
that  an  undertaking  of  this  character  should  belong  to 
the  period  of  the  poet's  apprenticeship  rather  than  to 
that  of  his  developed  art.4  The  association  of  the  work 
with  Troilus  may  be  sufficiently  explained  as  due  to 
the  similarity  in  the  spirit  of  the  two  works.5 

1  History  of  English  Literature  (Eng.  trans.),  2.  76,  77 ;  and  Eng- 
lische  Studien,  17.  9,  10. 

8  Chaucer  und  der  Rosenroman,  1,  2. 

8  The  first  1678  lines  of  the  French  poem  are  reprinted  from  Moon's 
edition  in  Skeat's  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  93-164,  parallel  with  Chaucer's 
version.  The  student  is  thus  enabled  to  make  his  own  comparisons 
between  original  and  translation.  The  English  version  is  but  27  lines 
longer  than  the  French. 

*  Skeat,  apparently,  continues  to  regard  the  Romaunt  as  an  early 
work.  Cf.  the  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  11. 

6  For  the  date  of  the  Romaunt,  see  also  Koch's  The  Chronology  of 
Chaucer's  Writings  (Chaucer  Society),  pp.  12-15. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  MINOR  POEMS 

THOUGH  among  the  Minor  Poems  of  Chaucer  are  num- 
bered many  of  his  latest  as  well  as  of  his  earliest  pro- 
ductions, it  is  convenient  to  treat  of  them  together  in 
a  single  chapter.  Nor  is  the  departure  from  the  chro- 
nological method  which  such  treatment  involves  with- 
out its  compensating  advantages ;  for  in  their  variety 
of  theme  and  tone,  and  even  more  in  their  wide  metri- 
cal range,  they  constitute  an  excellent  introduction  to 
Chaucer's  longer  and  more  sustained  compositions.  In 
the  following  pages  the  Minor  Poems  are  considered 
severally  in  the  approximately  chronological  order 
adopted  in  Professor  Skeat's  edition. 

I.    AN   A.    B.    C. 

Chaucer's  A.  B.  (7.,  a  'song  according  to  the  order 
of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,'  is  merely  a  translation, 
as  literal  as  the  exigencies  of  rime  and  rhythm  would 
permit,  of  a  hymn  to  the  Virgin  included  in  La,  Pele- 
rinage  de  la  Vie  Humaine  of  Guillaume  de  Deguille- 
ville, '  a  Cistercian  monk  in  the  royal  abbey  of  Chalis,' 
written  about  the  year  1330.  Of  the  date  of  Chaucer's 
translation  we  have  no  certain  knowledge ;  but  from 
the  choice  of  subject  and  the  manner  of  execution,  it 
is  safe  to  infer  that  it  is  among  the  poet's  earliest 
works.  It  is  merely  a  meritorious  essay  in  verse  compo- 
sition. The  introductory  statement  in  Speght's  Chau- 
cer of  1602,  where  the  A.  B.  (7.  was  first  printed, 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  made, '  as  some  say,  at  the 


58  THE    POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Request  of  Blanch,  Duchesse  of  Lancaster,  as  a  praier 
for  her  priuat  vse,  being  a  woman  in  her  religion  very 
deuout,'  is  not  supported  by  any  other  evidence.  The 
verse  is  iambic  pentameter ;  the  stanza  contains  eight 
lines,  with  the  rime-scheme  ababbcbc.  The  stanza  of 
Chaucer's  original  contains  twelve  lines  of  octosyllabic 
verse,  with  only  two  rimes. 

II.    THE  COMPLAINT  TO  PITY 

The  love-lorn  squire,  Aurelius,  in  the  Franklin's 
Tale,  tried  to  ease  his  heart  by  making  '  manye  layes, 
songes,  compleintes,  roundels,  virelayes ; '  and,  appar- 
ently, in  his  younger  days,  Chaucer  had  done  the  same. 
Whether  the  unhappy  love  expressed  in  the  'com- 
plaint' and  described  again  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Book  of  the  Duchess  was  a  real  and  deep  passion 
or  not,  we  have  no  way  of  knowing.  Don  Quixote, 
when  he  would  make  himself  a  knight-errant  complete, 
provided  himself  with  a  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  whom 
he  might  serve  as  lady-love;  and  it  is  quite  possible 
that  when  Chaucer  would  launch  himself  as  a  courtly 
poet,  he  found  it  expedient  to  do  the  same.  Still  we 
must  not  assume  the  truth  of  such  a  hypothesis  merely 
because  the  expression  of  this  love  is  clothed  in  arti- 
ficial and  conventional  forms.  Personally,  I  find  the 
idea  of  a  hopeless  love,  protracted  through  eight  long 
years,  out  of  harmony  with  the  eminent  sanity  of 
Chaucer's  nature.  But  who  shall  say  ? 

We  do  not  know  the  date  of  the  Complaint  to 
Pity,  nor  do  we  know  whether  or  not  it  was  original 
with  Chaucer.1  It  is  a  conventional  love  poem  on  the 
French  model,  and  is  in  all  probability  one  of  Chau- 
cer's earliest  extant  works.  It  is  interesting  chiefly  as 

1  Professor  Skeat's  attempt  to  find  a  parallel  for  tke  personification 
of  Pity  in  the  Thebais  of  Statiua  seems  unnecessary. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  59 

being  probably  the  earliest  appearance  in  English  verse 
of  the  seven-line  stanza,  with  rime-scheme  dbafobcc, 
known  as  the  rime-royal,  which  was  later  used  in 
Troilus  and  Criseyde. 

HI.    THE  BOOK   OF  THE   DUCHESS 

The  Book  of  the  Duchess,  or  the  '  Deeth  of  Blaunche 
the  Duchesse,'  as  it  is  called  in  the  Prologue  to  the 
Legend  of  Good  Women,  is  the  first  of  Date  and 
Chaucer's  poems  to  which  a  definite  date  Sources- 
can  be  assigned.  In  September,  1369,  died  the  Lady 
Blanche,  daughter  of  Henry,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  and 
first  wife  of  Chaucer's  patron,  John  of  Gaunt ;  and  soon 
after  her  death,  we  may  suppose,  was  written  the  poem 
which  celebrates  her  virtue  and  bewails  her  loss.  John 
of  Gaunt  and  his  lady  were  both  twenty-nine  years  old ; 
and  if  we  accept  the  year  1340  as  the  approximate  date 
of  Chaucer's  birth,  this  also  was  the  age  of  the  poet. 
Twenty-nine  he  was  at  least,  perhaps  older,  so  that  if 
this  be  his  first  original  work  of  any  length,  —  and  its 
immaturity  lends  credence  to  the  belief,  —  Chaucer's 
genius  was  slow  in  its  development.  Keats,  we  remem- 
ber, was  but  twenty-six  when  death  took  him  away. 

Chaucer's  literary  apprenticeship  was  worked  out  in 
the  school  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  his  translation 
of  the  poem  being  very  likely  his  first  serious  venture 
into  the  field  of  letters ;  and  the  Book  of  the  Duchess, 
like  other  work  of  his  earliest  period,  is  strongly  under 
the  influence  of  the  allegorical  love  poetry  of  France. 
From  that  source,  directly  or  indirectly,  comes  the 
whole  machinery  of  the  poem,  its  dream  and  vision, 
its  singing  birds,  its  flowery  meads ;  from  the  same 
source  are  drawn  some  of  the  ideas  also.  Were  not 
the  walls  of  the  chamber  in  which  the  poet  dreamed 
that  he  awoke 


60  THE   POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Peynted,  bothe  text  and  glose, 
Of  al  the  Romaunce  of  the  Rose  ? 

Of  the  same  school  of  poetry  is  the  Frenchman,  Guil- 
laume  de  Machault  (13007-1377),  and  from  him,  too, 
Chaucer  has  borrowed  here  and  there.1  Machault's 
Dit  de  la  Fontaine  Amoureuse,  which  Chaucer  cer- 
tainly knew,  contains  a  long  paraphrase  of  the  story 
of  Ceyx  and  Alcyone;  and  it  has  been  asserted  that 
this  suggested  the  Proem  of  the  Boole  of  the  Duchess? 
It  is  quite  likely  that  Chaucer  did  consult  Machault's 
version  of  the  story;  but  it  is  clearly  demonstrable 
that  he  also  went  directly  to  Ovid,  and  that  he  is  more 
indebted  to  the  Latin  than  to  the  French.  Though 
the  general  spirit  of  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  is  of 
the  French  school,  its  plot,  if  it  may  be  said  to  have 
a  plot,  is  Chaucer's  own.  Of  its  1334  lines,  not  more 
than  a  hundred  have  been  traced  to  a  definite  French 
original.3 

It  is  possible  that  the  story  of  Ceyx  and  Alcyone 
was  originally  an  independent  work.  In  the  Prologue 
of  the  Man  of  Law's  Tale,  at  any  rate,  we  read  that 

In  youtlic  he  made  of  Ceys  and  Alcion; 

but  this  may  very  well  refer  to  the  Boole  of  the 
Duchess,  which,  as  we  know,  was  made  in  Chaucer's 
youth. 

It  is  as  a  work  of  the  poet's  youth,  a  mark  from  which 
one  may  measure  his  subsequent  literary  development, 
Literary  that  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  deserves  at* 
Art>  tention.  Intrinsically  its  value  is  but  slight. 

It  is  not  lacking  in  beautiful  and  effective  passages ; 

1  See  Sandras,  Etude  sur  G.  Chaucer,  291-294. 

2  The  significant  portions  of  the  Dit  de  la  Fontaine  Amoureuse  are 
given  by  Ten  Brink,  Studien,  197-205.   Ovid's  version  is  found  in  Meta- 
morphoses, 11.  410-748. 

8  Cf.  Lounsbury's  Studies  in  Chaucer,  2.  212. 


THE  MINOR   POEMS  61 

but,  taken  as  a  whole,  it  furnishes  but  weary  reading. 
Distinctly  graceful  and  pleasing  is  the  story  of  Ceyx 
and  Alcyone,  when  judged  purely  on  its  own  merits  as 
an  imitation  of  Ovid;  but  so  slight  is  its  connection 
with  the  main  theme  of  the  poem,  that  it  constitutes 
a  serious  breach  of  artistic  unity.  By  far  the  most 
charming  passage  of  the  whole  work  is  the  account 
of  the  poet's  supposed  awakening,  with  the  merry  sing- 
ing of  the  birds  without  the  pictured  windows  of  his 
chamber  broken  by  the  sudden  blast  of  the  huntsman's 
horn,  all  the  varied  life  and  motion  of  the  hunt,  the 
flowers  and  trees  and  wild  beasts  of  the  greenwood. 
It  is  not  till  the  lonely  knight  begins  to  speak  that 
the  poem  sinks  to  its  true  level  of  mediocrity.  Not 
only  are  his  speeches  intolerably  long,  they  are  also 
essentially  artificial.  If  he  may  be  forgiven  his  con- 
ventional diatribe  against  malicious  fortune,  and  his 
strange  conceit  of  the  game  of  chess,  features  bor- 
rowed from  Machault,  it  is  hard  to  overlook  his  unin- 
termitted  pedantry.  He  ransacks  the  treasure-house  of 
classical  antiquity,  and  the  Bible  as  well,  to  furnish 
forth  fit  comparisons  for  his  loss,  and,  not  content  with 
this,  stops  now  and  then  to  explain  a  more  recondite 
allusion.  He  tells  how  he  had  made  many  songs  to  win 
his  lady's  love :  — 

Althogh  1  coude  not  make  so  wel 
Songes,  ne  knowe  the  art  al, 
As  coude  Lamekes  sone  Tubal, 
That  fond  out  first  the  art  of  songe; 
For,  as  his  brothers  hamers  ronge 
Upon  his  anvelt  up  and  doun, 
Therof  he  took  the  firste  soun; 
But  Grekes  seyn,  Pictagoras, 
That  he  the  firste  finder  was 
Of  the  art;  Aurora  telleth  so, 
But  therof  no  furs,  of  hem  two. 


62  THE    POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

It  is  Chaucer,  of  course,  and  not  the  bereaved  knight, 
who  is  thus  jealous  of  his  reputation  for  philological 
accuracy.  '  But  therof  no  fors,  of  hem  two ;'  it  is  in 
either  case  a  serious  lapse  from  literary  taste.  Lapses 
of  this  sort  Chaucer  never  wholly  outgrew. 

In  passing  judgment  so  harshly  on  the  long  speeches 
of  the  knight,  some  exception  must  be  made  for  the  pas- 
sage in  which  he  describes  the  charms,  spiritual  as  well 
as  physical,  of  the  '  gode  faire  Whyte.'  Of  this  Lowell 
has  spoken  as  '  one  of  the  most  beautiful  portraits  of 
a  woman  that  was  ever  drawn.'  '  Full  of  life  it  is,'  he 
continues,  *  and  of  graceful  health,  with  no  romantic 
hectic  or  sentimental  languish.  It  is  such  a  figure  as  you 
would  never  look  for  in  a  ballroom,  but  might  expect 
to  meet  in  the  dewy  woods,  just  after  sunrise,  when  you 
were  hunting  for  late  violets.'  *  But  even  here  one  is 
tempted  to  cry  out  on  the  score  of  prolixity. 

Some  attempt  is  made  to  create  a  sort  of  suspense  by 
withholding  till  the  very  end  the  fact  that  the  knight's 
loss  of  his  lady  is  the  irreparable  loss  of  death;  and 
after  the  long-drawn-out  speeches  of  the  poem,  a  dis- 
tinctly striking  effect  is  produced  by  the  abruptness  of 
the  end,  with  its  utter  restraint :  — 

•  She  is  deed  ! '  « Nay  ! '  '  Yis,  by  my  trouthe  ! ' 
'  Is  that  your  los  ?  by  God,  hit  is  routhe  ! ' 

I  cannot  agree  with  the  majority  of  critics  who  see  in 
this  ending  proof  that  Chaucer  tired  of  his  work  and 
ended  the  poem  hastily ;  it  seems  to  me  rather  a  stroke 
of  deliberate  art. 

In  its  lack  of  good  proportion  and  its  frequent  lapses 
in  taste,  in  the  occasional  roughness  of  metre  which  sug- 
gests the  earlier  alliterative  line,  in  its  lack  of  humor  and 
delicate  irony,  —  for  which,  to  be  sure,  there  is  little 
opportunity,  —  we  see  that  the  Book  of  the  Duchess 
1  Conversations  on  some  of  the  Old  Poets,  p.  98. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  63 

stands  at  the  beginning  of  Chaucer's  development.  In 
its  graceful  treatment  of  nature,  its  well-managed  tran- 
sitions, its  skillful  use  of  dialogue,  in  its  portrait  of  noble 
womanhood  and  its  occasional  pathos,  it  gives  promise 
of  the  splendid  development  to  come. 

IV.    THE    COMPLAINT   OP    MARS 

The  Complaint  of  Mars  is  a  conventional  poem, 
supposed  to  be  sung  by  a  bird  on  St.  Valentine's  Day, 
in  which  mythology  and  astronomy  are  curiously  blent 
together  to  the  greater  glory  of  illicit  love.  There  is 
nothing  to  indicate  the  date  of  its  composition,  nor 
have  we  any  certain  knowledge  whether  or  not  it  was 
intended  to  celebrate  an  actual  intrigue ;  though  the 
old  copyist,  Shirley,  appended  to  his  manuscript  copy 
of  the  piece  the  statement  that  some  men  say  that  it 
was  made  about  my  Lady  of  York,  daughter  to  the 
King  of  Spain,  and  my  Lord  Huntingdon,  sometime 
Duke  of  Exeter.  The  lady  named  was  sister-in-law  to 
Chaucer's  patron,  John  of  Gaunt,  while  my  Lord  Hunt- 
ingdon afterwards  married  John  of  Gaunt's  daughter, 
Elizabeth.  Shirley  further  assures  us  in  his  heading  to 
the  poem  that  it  was  made  at  John  of  Gaunt's  com- 
mand. The  Complaint  has  little  claim  to  attention  save 
for  the  fact  that  a  somewhat  difficult  nine-line  stanza 
is  handled  with  a  good  deal  of  skill. 

V.    THE  PARLIAMENT   OP  FOWLS 
On  the  twentieth  day  after  Christmas,  in  January, 
1382,  King  Richard  was  married  in  the  chapel  of  the 
palace  at  Westminster  to  the  Lady  Anne  of 
Bohemia,  a  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Charles 
IV  and  a  sister  of  Wenceslaus,  King  of  Bohemia,  *  who 
at  this  period  had  taken  the  title  of  Emperor  of  Rome.' 
Richard  was  but  fifteen  years  old,  and  his  bride  was 


64  THE   POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

but  a  few  months  his  senior.  For  upwards  of  a  year, 
Froissart  tells  us,  Richard  had  been  in  treaty  with 
King  Wenceslaus,  and  the  Lady  Anne  had  been  pre- 
viously contracted  to  two  German  princes ;  so  that  the 
course  of  this  diplomatic  courtship  had  not  been  a  very 
smooth  one. 

Though  we  cannot  assert  the  fact  with  positive  as- 
surance, it  seems  very  probable  that  it  is  the  events  of 
this  royal  courtship  which  Chaucer  celebrates  allegori- 
cally  in  his  Parliament  of  Fowls.  The  *  forinel  egle,' 
which  Nature  holds  on  her  hand,  — 

Of  shap  the  gentileste 
That  ever  she  among  fair  werkes  fonde, 
The  most  benigne  and  the  goodlieste,  — 

would  then  represent  the  Lady  Anne.  The  'tercel 
egle,'  '  the  foul  royal,'  who  declares  his  love  for  her, 
would  stand  for  Richard,  while  the  other  two  eagles, 
4  of  lower  kinde,'  would  be  the  two  earlier  suitors.  The 
year  of  respite  which  Dame  Nature  grants,  in  which 
the  *  formel  egle  '  is  to  choose  between  her  suitors, 
corresponds  with  the  period  over  which  the  diplomatic 
negotiations  were  protracted.  Chaucer  is  evidently  cele- 
brating a  courtship  in  high  life,  and  no  other  court- 
ship of  the  period  so  well  accords  with  the  incidents 
of  the  poem.  The  maturity  of  Chaucer's  literary  art 
in  the  poem,  furthermore,  agrees  very  well  with  a  date 
as  late  as  1382.  That  it  cannot  have  been  written 
later  than  1385  is  proved  by  the  mention  of  it  in  the 
Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women.  It  is  not 
at  all  impossible  that  the  delicate  flattery  of  the  Par- 
liament of  Fowls  may  have  been  directly  responsible 
for  the  favor  which  Queen  Anne  showed  to  Chaucer 
three  years  later.1 

Though  its  general  form  as  a  poem  of  the  dream- 
i  Cf.  p.  141. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  65 

vision  type  associates  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  with 
the  essentially  mediaeval,  French  models  of 
Chaucer's   earlier   period,  such   as  the   Ro- 
maunt   of  the  Rose,  and  though  the   conception  of 
an  assembly  of  fowls  is  probably  of  French  origin,1  the 
poem  shows  overwhelming  proof  of  the  influence  of 
the  new  culture  which  came  to  Chaucer  as  a  result  of 
his  Italian  journeys  of  1373  and  1378. 

After  four  introductory  stanzas,  Chaucer  devotes  fifty- 
six  lines  to  a  synopsis  of  Cicero's  Somnium  Scipionis, 
which  he  was  reading  before  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed 
his  dream.  This  work,  a  part  of  the  De  Republica, 
was  not  known  to  Chaucer  and  to  his  contemporaries 
in  its  original  setting,  for  the  De  Republica  was  not 
recovered  till  a  later  date,  but  was  preserved  as  an  ex- 
tract in  a  copious  commentary  of  Macrobius,  a  gram- 
marian and  philosopher  of  the  fifth  century.  This  book 
was  a  very  popular  one  with  Chaucer  and  with  the 
Middle  Ages  in  general,  and  exerted  no  small  influence 
on  the  Divine  Comedy  of  Dante.  The  extract  from 
Cicero,  if  not  the  laborious  commentary  of  Macrobius, 
is  fully  worthy  of  the  popularity  it  achieved. 

In  the  section  which  follows  on  the  synopsis  of  the 
Somnium  Scipionis,  the  predominant  influence  is  that 
of  Dante,  from  whom  the  inscription  over  the  gate 
to  the  garden  of  love  is  freely  adapted ;  though  one 
stanza,  beginning  with  the  line,  — 

The  wery  hunter,  slepinge  in  his  bed,  — 

is  translated  from  the  late  Latin  poet  Claudian.  For 
the  description  of  the  garden  and  its  delights  (lines  176- 
294)  Chaucer  is  closely  indebted  to  the  Teseide  of 
Boccaccio.  It  was  at  about  this  time,  apparently,  that 

1  As  Skeat  has  noticed,  one  of  the  fables  of  Marie  de  France  is  en- 
titled '  Li  parlemens  des  Oiseax  por  faire  Roi.'    Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  75. 


66  THE    POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Chaucer  wrote  his  Palamon  and  Arctic,  known  to  us 
as  the  Knight's  Tale  ;  and  finding  that  the  stanzas 
of  the  Teseide  here  utilized  were  not  necessary  for  his 
longer  work,  he  thriftily  turned  them  to  account  in  the 
Parliament  of  Fowls. 

The  description  of  the  Goddess  Nature  surrounded 
by  all  the  birds  of  the  air  is  adapted,  as  Chaucer  him- 
self tells  us,  from  the  De  Planctu  Natures,  of  Alanus 
de  Insulis,  a  Latin  poet  and  divine  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. In  Alanus,  however,  the  birds  are  merely  depicted 
on  the  robe  which  Nature  wears.  As  for  the  parlia- 
ment itself,  with  its  long  debate,  which  constitutes  the 
real  substance  of  the  poem,  that  is,  so  far  as  we  know, 
Chaucer's  own  original  production. 

As  the  sources  of  the  poem  show  a  twofold  influence, 
that  of  the  departing  Middle  Age  and  that  of  the  new 
Italian  culture,  so  too  in  its  literary  workmanship  one 
Literary  may  detect  the  transition  from  the  more  con- 
Art  ventional  poetry  of  Chaucer's  earlier  period 

to  the  work  of  his  maturer  genius.  Structurally  consid- 
ered, the  work  is  far  from  perfect ;  for  the  real  action 
of  the  piece  does  not  begin  till  nearly  three  hundred 
lines  have  rolled  melodiously  by.  Beautiful  as  is  the 
description  of  the  garden  of  love,  its  length  is  both 
relatively  and  absolutely  extravagant.  Quite  unne- 
cessary to  the  action  is  the  synopsis  of  the  Somnium 
Scipionis  with  which  the  poem  begins,  an  unfortu- 
nate bit  of  introductory  machinery  which  Chaucer  also 
employs,  at  greater  length,  in  his  earlier  Book  of  the 
Duchess. 

It  is  not  till  Chaucer  has  finished  his  introductions, 
and  has  left  his  authors  well  behind  him,  that  the  con- 
ventional gives  place  to  the  natural,  and  the  poet's 
genius  plays  freely.  The  graceful  and  charming  conceit 
of  Dame  Nature  on  her  hill  of  flowers,  with  all  the  birds 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  67 

about  her  come  to  choose  their  mates,  is  well  executed 
and  well  sustained.  If  we  fail  to  enter  with  much 
enthusiasm  into  the  emotions  of  the  three  rival  eagles 
as  they  plead  their  amorous  causes,  we  are  at  any  rate 
highly  entertained  by  the  varying  counsels  of  the  four 
estates  in  this  feathered  parliament. 

The  birds  of  prey,  who  constitute  the  peers  of  the 
realm,  take  the  matter  quite  seriously.  If  necessary, 
they  are  willing  to  see  in  the  dispute  fit  cause  for  war. 
The  fowls  of  lower  degree,  the  bourgeois  birds  who  feed 
on  worms,  the  mercantile  birds  who  occupy  their  busi- 
ness in  the  water,  those  of  agricultural  pursuit  who  feed 
on  seeds,  care  more  for  their  own  well-being  and  for 
the  expeditious  transaction  of  business  than  for  any 
punctilio  of  honor. 

But  she  wol  love  him,  lat  him  love  another  ! 

cries  the  unsentimental  goose,  as  spokesman  for  the 
water-fowl,  while  the  cuckoo,  of  the  worm-eating  estate, 
goes  even  further  :  — 

'  So  I,'  quod  he,  « may  have  my  make  in  pees, 
I  recche  not  how  longe  that  ye  stryve  ; 
Lat  ech  of  hem  be  soleyn  al  hir  ly  vc.' 

From  these  radical  views  the  turtle  dove,  representing 
the  more  poetical  class  of  those  who  feed  on  seeds,  is 
inclined  to  dissent :  — 

Yet  let  him  serve  hir  ever,  til  he  be  deed, 

an  opinion  which  the  duck  considers  merely  laughable. 
Though  characterized  quite  humanly,  Chaucer  does 
not  suffer  us  to  forget  that  the  parliament  is  only  one 
of  fowls,  and  the  sudden  '  Kek,  kek  !  kukkow,  quek, 
quek'  which  breaks  upon  us  serves  as  a  delicious  bit 
of  humorous  realism,  after  the  passionate  speeches  of 
the  three  tercel  eagles.  As  in  its  general  structure  the 


68  THE   POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Parliament  of  Fowls  leads  us  to  comparisons  with  the 
Book  of  the  Duchess  which  preceded  it,  so  in  its  treat- 
ment of  birds  who  speak  like  men  it  leads  us  forward 
to  the  more  finished  art  of  the  Nun's  Priest's  Tale. 

VI.   A  COMPLAINT  TO   HIS   LADY 

Chaucer's  Complaint  to  his  Lady  is  apparently  no 
more  than  a  series  of  experiments  in  verse  form.  Be- 
ginning with  two  stanzas  of  seven  lines,  it  shifts  into 
the  terza  rima  of  Dante,  and  thence  into  a  complex 
stanza  of  ten  lines,  with  rime-scheme  aabaabcddc.  This 
is  the  first  appearance  of  the  terza  rima  in  English 
verse,  and  probably  its  only  appearance  until  English 
literature  was  again  Italianized  in  the  days  of  Wyatt 
and  Surrey.  As  Mr.  Heath  suggests,  the  poem  should 
not  be  taken  too  seriously.1  It  may  have  been  written 
shortly  after  Chaucer's  Italian  journey  of  1373. 

VII.   ANELIDA   AND   ARCITE 

The  fragment  of  Anelida  and  Arcite  consists  of  a 
Proem  of  three  stanzas,  twenty-seven  stanzas  of  seven 
lines  each  of  the  *  Story,'  followed  by  a  Complaint  in 
fourteen  stanzas  of  very  elaborate  metrical  construction. 
After  the  Complaint,  the  '  Story '  is  resumed,  but  is 
broken  off  after  a  single  stanza.  Probably  the  work 
was  never  completed. 

In  line  21  Chaucer  gives  as  his  sources  '  Stace,  and 
after  him  Corinne.'  Stanzas  4-7  are  indeed  from  the 
Thebais  of  Statius ;  but  who  '  Corinne '  may  be,  we  do 
not  know,  —  very  likely  the  name  is  one  of  Chaucer's 
sheer  inventions,  —  nor  do  we  know  any  source  for  the 
story.  But  for  six  stanzas  of  the  poem  (1-3,  8-10) 
a  source  is  easily  discoverable.  They  are  taken  from 
the  first  and  second  books  of  Boccaccio's  Teseide,  the 

1  Gttobe  Chaucer,  p.  xxxvii. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  69 

poem  which  served  as  the  foundation  of  the  Knight's 
Tale.  Since  stanzas  from  the  Teseide  are  also  found 
in  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  and  in  Troilus,  it  is  nat- 
ural to  infer  that  these  three  poems  were  written  at 
about  the  same  time,  when  Chaucer  was  busy  with 
his  Palamon  and  Arcite,  later  known  as  the  Knight's 
Tale  ;  that  is,  soon  after  the  year  1380. 

Since  the  poem  is  a  mere  fragment,  it  is  not  possible 
to  say  much  of  its  literary  qualities,  save  to  call  atten- 
tion to  the  metrical  skill  and  pleasing  effect  of  the 
Complaint  which  is  incorporated  into  it.  Neither  can 
we,  while  in  ignorance  of  its  source,  venture  to  guess 
how  the  story  would  have  been  concluded.  Though  also 
a  Theban  at  the  court  of  Theseus,  the  Arcite  of  this 
poem  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Arcite  of  the  Knight's 
Tale.  It  is  not  impossible  that  Chaucer  may  have 
intended  to  celebrate  some  love  story  of  the  English 
court,  and  that  being  busy  with  the  Teseide,  he  chose 
to  shadow  forth  his  real  personages  under  names  bor- 
rowed from  the  court  of  Theseus,  inventing  the  name 
Corinne  to  increase  the  obscurity  of  his  allegory.  Frag- 
ment as  it  is,  the  piece  gives  unquestioned  proof  of 
Chaucer's  power. 

vm.  CHAUCER'S  WORDS  UNTO  ADAM 
I  know  no  better  way  to  illustrate  Chaucer's  half -seri- 
ous, half -playful  address  to  his  copyist,  than  by  quoting 
the  words  of  Petrarch  to  a  friend  to  whom  he  wished 
to  send  a  copy  of  his  own  work  on  the  Life  of  Soli- 
tude: '  I  have  tried  ten  times  and  more  to  have  it  copied 
in  such  a  way  that,  even  if  the  style  should  not  please 
either  the  ears  or  the  mind,  the  eyes  might  yet  be  grati- 
fied by  the  form  of  the  letters.  But  the  faithfulness 
and  industry  of  the  copyists,  of  whom  I  am  constantly 
complaining  and  with  which  you  are  familiar,  have,  in 


70  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

spite  of  all  my  earnest  efforts,  frustrated  my  wishes. 
These  fellows  are  verily  the  plague  of  noble  minds. 
What  I  have  just  said  must  seem  incredible.  A  work 
written  in  a  few  months  cannot  be  copied  in  so  many 
years !  The  trouble  and  discouragement  involved  in 
the  case  of  more  important  books  is  obvious.  .  .  .  Such 
is  the  ignorance,  laziness,  or  arrogance  of  these  fel- 
lows, that,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  they  do  not  repro- 
duce what  you  give  them,  but  write  out  something  quite 
different.' 1 

One  may  assume  that  the  poem  was  written  soon 
after  Troilus  and  Boece,  which  it  mentions  in  the 
second  line.  It  is  written  in  the  seven-line  stanza  of 
Troilus. 

IX.    THE  FORMER  AGE 

Poets  have  always  been  ready  to  sing  the  praises  of 
long  ago,  and  to  Chaucer,  living  in  an  age  of  continual 
warfare,  of  corruption  and  oppression,  the  *  blisful  lyf, 
paisible  and  swete,  led  by  the  peples  in  the  former  age,' 
may  well  have  appealed  very  strongly.  Doubtless  he 
was  wise  enough  and  practical  enough  to  see  the  fal- 
lacies of  a  general  '  return  to  nature,'  and  to  recognize 
that  civilization  has  brought  its  blessings  as  well  as  its 
curses  ;  but  he  was  also  philosopher  enough  to  see  that 
*  covetyse '  was  really  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  most 
serious  evils  of  his  day,  as  it  is  of  our  own.  The  poem 
is  founded  on  the  fifth  metre  of  the  second  book  of 
Boethius's  Consolation  of  Philosophy,  and  may  pro- 
fitably be  compared  with  Chaucer's  prose  translation 
of  the  same  passage.  About  twenty  lines  of  The  For- 
mer Age  are  directly  taken  from  Boethius,  while  the 
remainder  are  Chaucer's  own  expansion  of  the  theme. 
There  is  nothing  to  indicate  the  date  of  its  composition. 

1  Robinson  and  Rolfe,  Petrarch,  the  First  Modern  Scholar  and  Man 
of  Letters,  New  York,  1899,  pp.  27,  2& 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  71 

The  stanza  consists  of  eight  lines,  with  rime-scheme 
ababbcbc. 

X.   FORTUNE 

Because  the  poem  called  Fortune,  like  The  Former 
Age,  is  little  more  than  a  restatement  of  the  teachings 
of  Boethius,1  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  it  is  a  mere 
literary  tour  de  force.  Indirectly  at  first  through  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  and  later  from  the  Consolation 
of  Philosophy  itself,  Chaucer  assimilated  the  philo- 
sophy of  Boethius  into  his  own  soul,  and  made  it  the 
guiding  principle  of  his  life.  Trite  though  they  be,  the 
thoughts  expressed  in  Fortune  are  noble  thoughts; 
and  they  are  nobly  spoken  forth,  not  only  with  art,  but 
with  conviction.  Fortune  may  govern  all  things  with 
her  fickleness,  but  '  man  is  man  and  master  of  his 
fate.'  Not  only  may  a  true  man  defy  Fortune,  he  may 
learn  from  her  frowns  which  of  his  friends  are  friends 
indeed,  which  things  in  life  are  really  enduring.  Before 
the  poem  closes,  its  stoicism  becomes  a  Christian  stoi- 
cism. The  very  uncertainty  of  things  terrestrial,  which 
we,  'ful  of  lewednesse,'  call  Fortune,  is  but  part  of 
the  scheme  of  righteous  Providence :  — 

The  heveue  hath  propretee  of  sikernesse, 
This  world  hath  ever  resteles  travayle; 
Thy  laste  day  is  end  of  myn  intresse: 
In  general,  this  reule  may  nat  fayle. 

Whether  the  poem  was  called  forth  by  some  partic- 
ular reverse  of  fortune  or  not  cannot  be  known ;  but 
the  definiteness  of  the  refrain,  — 

And  eek  thou  hast  thy  beste  frend  alyve, — 

and  of  the  appeal  to  certain  princes  in  the  envoy,  seems 
to  suggest  that  this  may  have  been  the  case.    But  who 

1  Cf.  Boethius,  Book  II,  Proses  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  8,  and  Metre  1.  Here 
and  there  the  influence  of  Boethius  seems  to  be  at  second  hand  through 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  See  Skeat's  notes,  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  542-547. 


72  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  friend  may  be,  and  what  the  occasion,  it  were  idle 
to  inquire. 

Apart  from  the  nobility  of  its  thought  and  the  ele- 
vation of  its  language,  the  poem  is  remarkable  for  the 
metrical  skill  which  it  betrays.  The  poem  consists  of 
three  balades  and  an  envoy.  Each  of  the  balades  has 
three  stanzas  of  eight  lines  each,  with  the  rime-scheme 
ababbcbc,  and  the  rimes  are  identical  in  each  of  the 
three  stanzas ;  so  that  the  rime  *  b '  is  repeated  twelve 
times,  while  the  rimes  '  a '  and  *  c '  appear  six  times 
each  ;  yet  there  is  scarcely  a  line  in  which  one  is  con- 
scious of  any  conflict  between  versification  and  thought. 

XI.    MERCILESS   BEAUTY 

In  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  it 
is  said  that  Chaucer  made  many  a  hymn  for  love's  holi- 
days, — 

That  Lighten  Balades,  Roundels,  Virelaye8. 

The  roundel  is  a  highly  elaborate  verse  form,  borrowed 
from  France.  The  stanza  contains  thirteen  lines,  with 
rime-scheme  abbabababbabb,  in  which  lines  one  and 
two  are  repeated  as  lines  six  and  seven,  and  are  again 
repeated  with  line  three  to  form  the  last  three  lines 
of  the  stanza.  The  three  roundels  of  this  poem  and  the 
one  near  the  end  of  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  are  the 
only  roundels  of  Chaucer  preserved  to  us.  Merciless 
Beauty  is  a  charmingly  graceful,  but  entirely  conven- 
tional, love  poem,  after  the  French  school,  and  perhaps 
imitated  from  a  French  original.1 

XII.    TO  ROSEMOUNDE 

The  balade  To  Rosemounde  was  discovered  by  Pro- 
fessor Skeat  in  1891,  appended  to  a  manuscript  of 
Troilus  and  Criseyde  in  the  Bodleian  Library.     This 
1  See  Skeat,  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  548. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  73 

may  indicate  that  it  was  written  at  the  same  time  as 
the  longer  poem ;  but  whenever  written,  it  breathes 
the  same  spirit  of  mingled  seriousness  and  irony.  It  is 
thoroughly  characteristic  of  Chaucer's  developed  art. 
There  are  three  stanzas  of  eight  lines  each,  with  rime- 
scheme  ababbcbc,  the  rimes  of  the  first  stanza  being 
repeated  in  the  second  and  third. 

XIII.   TEUTH 

The  balade  of  Truth  is  the  best  answer  one  may 
give  to  the  charge  that  Chaucer  was  incapable  of  *  high 
seriousness.'  Though  suggested  in  part  by  Boethius, 
the  poem  is  essentially  original,  and  expresses,  I  think, 
the  substance  of  Chaucer's  criticism  of  life.  Like  Lang- 
land  and  Wiclif,  Chaucer  was  fully  conscious  of  the 
evils  of  his  time;  nor  was  he,  as  one  might  hastily  infer 
from  the  humorous  treatment  of  these  evils  in  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  indifferent  to  their  gravity.  When 
Jacques  invites  Orlando  to  sit  down  and  '  rail  against 
our  mistress  the  world,  and  all  our  misery,'  Orlando 
answers:  4I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world  but 
myself,  against  whom  I  know  most  faults.'  Orlando's 
attitude  seems  to  have  been  Shakespeare's  attitude,  as 
it  was  certainly  Chaucer's.  '  Werk  wel  thyself,  that 
other  folk  canst  rede.'  The  world  is  bad,  but  who  am 
I,  to  set  it  right  ?  the  poet  asks.  Shall  I  not  merely 
fill  my  own  soul  with  storm  and  tempest,  and  all  the 
while  be  striving  '  as  doth  the  crokke  with  the  wal '  ? 
The  poet  is  gifted  with  a  delicate  and  sensitive  soul, 
which,  kept  untainted,  can  give  forth  life  and  beauty 
to  his  own  age  and  to  the  ages  in  store.  To  spend  it 
all  in  mad  protest  against  a  wicked  world  —  what  shall 
it  profit?  Fleeing  from  the  press,  renouncing  the 
*  strenuous  life '  to  dwell  with  truth,  Chaucer  showed 
his  age  its  true  likeness,  its  good  and  evil.  The  world 


74  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

might  listen  or  not,  as  it  pleased.    After  all  there  is  a 
power  stronger  than  we,  making  for  righteousness :  — 

Daunte  thyself,  that  dauntest  otheres  dede  ; 
And  trouihe  shal  deliver e,  hit  is  no  drede. 

But  beyond  all  this,  what  is  this  world  that  we  should 
struggle  so  to  set  it  straight  ? 

Her  nis  non  boom,  her  nis  but  wilderness^: 
Forth,  pilgrim,  forth!  Forth,  beste,  out  of  thy  stal  I 
Know  thy  contree,  look  up,  thank  God  of  al; 
Hold  the  hye  wey,  and  lat  thy  gost  thee  lede; 
And  trouthe  shal  delivere,  hit  is  no  drede. 

The  poem  consists  of  three  stanzas  and  an  envoy,  all 
in  the  seven-line  stanza,  with  the  same  rimes  reappear- 
ing in  each  stanza  and  in  the  envoy.1 

XIV.    GENTILESSE 

Though  borrowed  in  its  general  conception,  like 
Truth,  from  Boethius,  and  in  part  also  from  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  the  balade  of  Gentilesse  ex- 
presses Chaucer's  own  conviction  as  to  true  gentility, 
a  conviction  which  is  expressed  again  in  the  Wife  of 
Bath's  Tale.  Trite  enough  in  a  democratic  age  like  the 
present,  these  thoughts  were  more  novel  in  the  day  of 
Chaucer,  particularly  when  they  came  from  one  who 
dwelt  near  the  court,  that  great  centre  of  all  the  '  sol- 
emn plausibilities '  of  life.  There  are  three  seven-line 
stanzas,  with  rimes  repeated  throughout. 

XV.     LACK   OF   STEADFASTNESS 

If  the  philosophy  of  '  Flee  fro  the  prees '  be  accepted 
as  representing  Chaucer's  true  conviction,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising to  find  that  he  very  seldom  assumes  the  prophet's 
mantle,  and  attempts  to  scourge,  save  with  the  lash  of 
comedy,  the  evils  and  abuses  of  his  time.  One  of  the 
1  For  further  remarks  on  this  poem,  cf.  above,  pp.  29,  30. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  75 

few  exceptions  to  this  rule  is  the  vigorous  balade,  with 
its  envoy  to  King  Richard,  entitled  Lack  of  Stead- 
fastness. Covetise  and  the  love  of  meed,  the  '  lust  that 
folk  have  in  dissensioun,'  the  decay  of  virtue  and  of 
mercy  —  these  are  the  evils  which  are  bringing  the 
world  to  naught ;  and  in  this  opinion  Chaucer  is  at  one 
with  Langland,  with  Wiclif,  and  with  Gower. 

To  assign  even  an  approximate  date  for  the  composi- 
tion of  the  poem  is  very  difficult.  In  the  Tanner  manu- 
script of  the  minor  poems  it  is  headed  with  the  words : 
'  Balade  Royal  made  by  oure  laureal  poete  of  Albyon 
in  hees  laste  yeeres.'  Following  this  hint,  Chaucerian 
scholars  have  generally  assigned  it  to  the  years  between 
1393  and  1399,  during  which  Richard  succeeded  in 
alienating  the  loyalty  and  affection  of  most  of  his  sub- 
jects. Mr.  Pollard,  however,  suggests,  with  a  good  deal 
of  reason,  that  from  a  dependent  of  the  court  such 
advice  to  his  sovereign  would  have  been  prudent  only 
at  an  earlier  period,  in  1389  perhaps,  '  when  the  young 
Richard  was  taking  the  government  into  his  own  hands, 
and  throwing  over  the  tutelage  of  his  guardian  uncles 
with  the  support  of  all  his  people's  hopes.' 1 

Professor  Skeat  asserts  that  the  general  idea  of  the 
poem  was  taken  from  Boethius,  Book  II,  Metre  8 ;  but 
the  indebtedness,  if  any,  was  very  slight.  The  poem  is 
essentially  original.  The  metre  is  the  same  as  that  of 
Truth. 

XVI.   ENVOY  TO   SCOGAN 

The  date  of  the  playful  Envoy  to  Scogan  may, 
perhaps,  be  determined  by  the  allusion  in  the  sec- 
ond stanza  to  '  this  deluge  of  pestilence,'  which  has 
been  interpreted  as  a  reference  to  the  unusually  heavy 
rains  which,  according  to  Stowe's  Annales,  fell  in  the 
autumn  of  1393.  '  Such  abundance  of  water  fell  in 

1  Preface  to  the  Globe  Edition,  p.  xlix. 


76  THE    POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

October,  that  at  Bury  in  Suffolke  the  church  was  full 
of  water,  and  at  Newmarket  it  bare  downe  walles  of 
houses,  so  that  men  and  women  hardly  escaped  drown- 
ing.' *  This  deluge,  Chaucer  suggests,  was  due  to  the 
tears  of  Venus  shed  over  Scogan's  impiety  in  love.  The 
date  1393  would  agree,  moreover,  with  the  closing 
stanza,  in  which  Chaucer  speaks  of  himself  '  in  solitarie 
wilderness'  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  that  is  at 
Greenwich,  whither  he  had  been  dispatched  in  1390  on 
a  commission  to  repair  the  banks  of  the  river.  That 
the  poem  was  written  in  Chaucer's  later  years  is  evi- 
dent from  his  humorous  mention  of  those  '  that  ben 
Lore  and  rounde  of  shape,'  in  the  number  of  whom  he 
includes  himself. 

Of  Scogan  we  know  little.  He  is  probably  the 
Henry  Scogan,  Squire,  who  was  later  tutor  to  the  sons 
of  Henry  IV.  In  a  balade  of  his  own,  written,  Professor 
Skeat  thinks,  'not  many  years  before  1413,'  Scogan 
refers  to  Chaucer  as  '  my  maistre  Chaucier,'  and  pro- 
ceeds to  quote  entire  Chaucer's  balade  of  Gentilesse. 
There  are  six  stanzas  and  an  envoy,  all  in  the  seven- 
line  stanza.  The  rimes  in  each  stanza  are  different. 

XVII.    ENVOY  TO   BUKTON 

The  date  of  the  thoroughly  characteristic  Envoy 
to  BuTcton  is  determined  by  the  allusion  in  line  23 
to  the  undesirability  of  being  taken  prisoner  in  Fries- 
land,  whither  a  company  of  English  was  dispatched  in 
August,  1396,  to  the  aid  of  William  of  Hainault.2  A 
late  date  is  further  indicated  by  the  reference  to  the 
Wife  of  Bath.  Of  Bukton  we  know  only  that  a  Peter 
de  Buketon  was  the  king's  escheator  for  the  County  of 

1  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  557. 

2  See  Froissart's  Chronicles,  Book  IV,  chap.  78.   In  the  preceding 
chapter  we  read  that  '  The  Frieslanders  are  a  people  void  of  honor 
and  understanding,  and  show  mercy  to  none  who  fall  in  their  way.' 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  77 

York  in  1397.  Apparently,  Bukton  was  meditating  a 
second  marriage.  Chaucer's  sound  advice  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  seems  to  be  at  least  half  serious,  need  not 
be  taken  as  proof  that  his  own  marriage  had  been  par- 
ticularly unhappy.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  Chaucer, 
now  a  widower,  had  no  intention  of  falling  again  into 
*  swich  dotage '  if  he  could  help  it.  There  are  three 
stanzas  and  an  envoy  of  eight  lines  each,  with  rime- 
scheme  ababbcbc. 

XVIII.    THE   COMPLAINT    OF  VENUS 

The  Complaint  of  Venus  consists  of  three  bal- 
ades,  loosely  joined  together,  and  supplemented  by  an 
envoy.  As  Chaucer  himself  tells  us  in  the  envoy,  the 
balades  are  translated  from  the  French  of  Sir  Otes  de 
Graunsoun,  a  poet  of  Savoy,  contemporary  with  Chau- 
cer. As  may  be  learned  from  a  comparison  with  the 
French  text,  which  is  printed  in  Skeat's  Oxford  Chau- 
cer,1 the  translation  does  not  *  f olowe  word  by  word,' 
but  is  rather  free.  Since  this  complaint  is  associated 
in  many  copies  with  the  Complaint  of  Mars,  it  has 
been  assumed  that  the  princess  addressed  in  the  envoy 
is  the  Princess  Isabel  of  Spain  and  Duchess  of  York, 
whose  love  is  celebrated  in  the  earlier  piece.  If  this 
be  true,  the  date  of  composition  will  fall  between  1390 
and  1394 ;  for  in  the  latter  year  Princess  Isabel  died, 
and  in  the  envoy  Chaucer  speaks  of  himself  as  already 
dulled  by  old  age.  The  poem,  which  is  of  the  conven- 
tional type,  is  chiefly  interesting  for  its  elaborate  rime- 
scheme,  admirably  handled.  Each  of  the  three  balades 
consists  of  three  eight-line  stanzas,  riming  ababbccb, 
with  repeated  rimes.  The  envoy  has  ten  lines,  riming 
aabaabbaab. 

1  1.  400-404.  See  also  the  articles  on  Grannsoun  by  Dr.  A.  Piaget, 
•who  first  discovered  the  French  originals,  in  Romania,  19. 237-259,  403- 
448. 


78  THE   POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

XIX.    THE   COMPLAINT  OF  CHAUCER  TO  HIS  EMPTY 
PURSE 

This  delightful  poem,  which  with  delicate  humor 
applies  the  conventional  language  of  amorous  poetry 
to  an  empty  purse,  is  probably  among  Chaucer's  latest 
compositions.  The  envoy,  at  any  rate,  addressed  to 
Henry  IV  as  *  conquerour  of  Brutes  Albioun,'  cannot 
have  been  written  earlier  than  September  30,  1399, 
when  Parliament  formally  acknowledged,  by  '  free  elec- 
cioun,'  Henry's  right  to  the  throne.  It  is,  of  course, 
possible  that  the  preceding  stanzas  had  been  written  at 
an  earlier  time.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  this  deli- 
cate appeal  for  help  met  with  almost  immediate  reply. 
On  October  3  Chaucer  received  an  additional  pension 
grant  of  forty  marks  from  the  royal  treasury.  There  are 
three  seven-line  stanzas,  with  repeated  rimes,  and  an 
envoy  of  five  lines,  riming  aabba. 

XX.    PROVERBS 

The  two  Proverbs  attributed  to  Chaucer  by  the  man- 
uscripts are  not  of  sufficient  value  to  merit  any  discus- 
sion. Each  proverb  contains  four  octosyllabic  lines, 
riming  dbdb. 

XXI.    AGAINST  WOMEN  UNCONSTANT 

Though  there  is  no  sufficient  external  evidence  to 
prove  this  poem  one  of  Chaucer's,  it  is  so  thoroughly 
Chaucerian  in  manner,  and  withal  so  charming  and 
graceful,  that  one  is  strongly  inclined  to  think  that  the 
manuscripts  and  the  early  editions  are  right  in  asso- 
ciating it  with  his  genuine  work.  The  idea  of  the  poem 
and  its  refrain  are  from  the  French  of  Machault,  an 
author  with  whom  Chaucer  was  thoroughly  familiar. 
The  metre  is  Chaucer's  favorite  seven-line  stanza,  with 
repeated  rimes. 


THE  MINOR  POEMS  79 

XXII.    AN   AMOROUS    COMPLAINT 

As  in  the  case  of  the  preceding  poem,  there  is  no 
satisfactory  evidence  that  An  Amorous  Complaint  is 
by  Chaucer,  though  it  is  certainly  in  his  manner.  The 
poem  has  not  sufficient  excellence  to  make  the  question 
an  important  one.  The  seven-line  stanza  is  employed. 

XXIII.  A  BALADE  OF  COMPLAINT 
This  poem,  like  the  preceding,  is  of  the  conventional 
erotic  type.  It  occurs  in  but  one  manuscript,  and  is  not 
there  attributed  to  Chaucer.  Though  superior  to  An 
Amorous  Complaint  in  art,  it  is  not  a  poem  which  we 
need  consider  very  seriously.  There  are  three  seven- 
line  stanzas,  without  repetition  of  rime.  The  acciden- 
tal recurrence  of  the  c  rime  of  the  first  stanza  as  the 
a  rime  of  the  second  is  a  metrical  blemish  which 
may  be  taken  as  an  argument  against  its  Chaucerian 
authorship. 

XXIV.    WOMANLY  NOBLESSE 

This  poem,  which  is  found  in  a  single  manuscript, 
was  first  printed  by  Professor  Skeat  in  The  Athenceum 
for  June  9,  1894.  If  not  deserving  of  the  high  praise 
bestowed  upon  it  by  Professor  Skeat  in  the  first  flush 
of  discovery,  it  is  yet  a  charming  and  graceful  bit  of 
conventional  love  poetry.  The  rime-scheme  is  highly 
elaborate,  but  three  rimes  appearing  in  the  entire 
piece.  There  are  three  stanzas  of  nine  lines  each,  rim- 
ing aabaabbaa,  with  repeated  rimes,  and  an  envoy  of 
six  lines  riming  dbdbaa,  in  which  the  same  rimes  again 
appear.  The  a  rime  is  therefore  repeated  twenty-two 
times.  It  should  be  noticed,  however,  that  Chaucer 
has  prudently  chosen  very  easy  rimes. 


CHAPTER  V 

BOETHIUS  AND  THE  ASTROLABE 
BOETHIUS   DE   CONSOLATIONE  PHILOSOPHIE 

DUEING  the  whole  extent  of  the  Middle  Ages  there 
was  no  single  work,  save  the  Bible  itself,  which  ex- 
The  erted  so  wide  and  continuous  an  influence  on 

original.  ^he  thought  of  Europe  as  the  dialogue  of 
Boethius  on  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy.  In 
England  its  influence  may  be  traced  from  the  very 
dawn  of  our  literature;  for  the  moralizing  interpola- 
tions in  Beowulf  are  in  several  instances  to  be  traced 
to  this  source,  and  the  De  Consolatione  was  among 
the  works  which  the  great  Alfred  gave  to  his  country- 
men, translated  into  their  own  speech.  Chaucer,  as  has 
already  been  seen,  was  permeated  through  and  through 
with  the  teachings  of  Boethius,  and  his  contemporaries 
felt  this  influence  as  strongly.  What  is  true  of  Eng- 
land is  true  also  of  France  and  Italy  and  Germany. 
The  direct  influence  of  Boethius,  moreover,  was  supple- 
mented by  an  indirect  influence,  exerting  itself  through 
the  channels  of  other  books,  notably  of  the  Roman 
de  la  Rose.  Through  this  channel,  not  improbably, 
Chaucer  first  met  the  doctrines  of  Boethius  ;  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  the  idea  of  Chaucer's  translation 
was  first  suggested  by  a  couplet  of  the  Roman  :  — 

'T  would  redound 

Greatly  to  that  man's  praise  who  should 
Translate  that  book  with  masterhood.1 

1  Ellis's  translation,  11.  5344-5346. 


BOETHIUS  AND  THE  ASTROLABE    81 

Jean  de  Meun,  at  any  rate,  followed  his  own  advice, 
and  made  a  translation  of  the  book  into  French. 

The  work  fully  deserved  the  popularity  it  attained, 
both  in  virtue  of  its  inherent  excellence  and  charm, 
and  in  virtue  of  the  fascinatingly  romantic  life  of  its 
author.  Additional  authority  was  given  to  it  by  the 
tradition,  now  strongly  questioned  but  never  satisfacto- 
rily refuted,  that  its  author  was  a  Christian,  and  by 
the  erroneous  belief  that  he  gave  his  life,  a  martyr  for 
the  true  faith.  Two  or  three  centuries  after  his  death, 
he  was  canonized  as  St.  Severinus. 

Anicius  Manlius  Severinus  Boethius  was  born  be- 
tween the  years  475  and  483  A.  D.,  probably  later  than 
480,  and  died  in  524,  his  life  falling  in  the  exciting  days 
of  Odoacer  and  Theodoric.  His  family  was  one  of  high 
standing,  which  had  for  six  centuries  held  office  in  the 
public  service ;  his  father,  who  died  in  the  philosopher's 
boyhood,  had  been  prefect  of  the  city,  praetorian  pre- 
fect, and  consul.  Boethius  married  the  daughter  of  his 
kinsman  and  guardian,  Symmachus,  a  senator,  and  him- 
self sat  in  the  Senate.  In  the  year  510  he  was  elected 
sole  consul  through  the  favor  of  Theodoric.  In  522 
the  philosopher's  two  sons  were  made  consuls  together. 

Though  participating  in  affairs  of  state,  Boethius's 
highest  efforts  were  given  to  his  books.  His  educa- 
tion was  of  the  best,  and  his  wide  attainments  included 
a  knowledge  of  Greek.  'He  translated  the  works 
of  Pythagoras  on  music,  of  Ptolemy  on  astromomy,  of 
Nichomachus  on  arithmetic,  of  Euclid  on  geometry,  of 
Archimedes  on  mechanics.  Finally,  he  sought  to  bring 
the  whole  of  Greek  speculative  science  within  the  range 
of  Roman  readers ;  and  though  he  did  not  live  to  see 
the  attainment  of  his  ambition,  he  managed  to  give  to 
the  world  in  something  less  than  twenty  years,  of  which 
several  were  absorbed  in  the  discharge  of  public  duties, 


82  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

more  than  thirty  books  of  commentary  on,  and  trans- 
lation of,  Aristotle.' 1 

From  this  life  of  distinguished  service,  Boethius  was 
snatched  by  a  sudden  tragic  catastrophe.  The  Senate 
was  suspected  by  Theodoric  of  a  treasonable  intent 
to  restore  the  ancient  liberties  of  Rome  ;  and  Boethius 
was  chosen  as  the  one  to  bear  the  full  brunt  of  the  royal 
displeasure.  Out  of  the  mouths  of  notorious  false  wit- 
nesses, as  Boethius  insists,  he  was  convicted  of  treason, 
was  imprisoned  at  Pa  via,  and,  after  a  long  imprisonment, 
was  put  to  death.  It  was  during  this  period  of  impris- 
onment that  he  wrote  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy. 

This,  the  latest  and  greatest  of  Boethius's  writings, 
is  a  dialogue  between  the  author  and  the  goodly  lady 
Philosophy,  in  alternating  sections  of  prose  and  verse, 
wherein  are  discussed  those  great  problems  of  human 
life  which  were  brought  vividly  to  the  author's  con- 
sciousness by  his  sudden  and  overwhelming  misfortune, 
coming  as  it  did  close  on  the  heels  of  his  highest  pros- 
perity. In  briefest  outline,  the  argument  runs  as 
follows :  As  Boethius  bewails  in  prison  the  wretched- 
ness that  has  come  upon  him,  suddenly  appears  to  him 
the  majestic  figure  of  Philosophy.  'When  all  the 
universe  is  ordered  by  God,'  the  prisoner  asks,  'why 
should  man  alone  wander  at  will?'  Philosophy,  in  her 
reply,  asserts  the  absolute  omnipotence  of  God  (Book  I). 
It  is  not  right  to  blame  Fortune  for  our  woes,  for  none 
of  the  gifts  of  Fortune  are  really  valuable.  Fortune 
really  benefits  man  only  when  she  frowns  upon  him, 
thus  teaching  him  what  is  the  true  good  (Book  II). 
What,  then,  is  this  true  good  ?  It  must  include  within 
itself  all  the  partial  goods  for  which  various  men  strive  ; 

1  H.  F.  Stewart,  Boethius,  an  Essay,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1891, 
p.  26.  This  volume  of  270  pages  may  be  most  enthusiastically  recom- 
mended to  any  one  who  wishes  to  know  more  of  Boethius  and  of  hia 
philosophy. 


BOETHIUS  AND  THE  ASTROLABE          83 

and  this  absolute  and  perfect  good,  the  sum  of  all  par- 
tial goods,  is  God  himself.  Since  all  men  instinctively 
seek  happiness,  and  since  happiness  consists  only  in  the 
true  good,  all  men  naturally  seek  God  (Book  III). 
But  if  God  is  the  supreme  good  and  is  omnipotent,  why 
do  the  wicked  flourish  ?  To  this  world-old  question  Phi- 
losophy answers  in  the  spirit  of  Plato,  that  the  wicked 
are  not  really  powerful,  that  properly  they  do  not  even 
exist  at  all.  They  are  no  part  of  God,  and  God  alone 
really  exists.  God,  in  his  omnipotence,  rules  the  world 
by  his  providence,  Fate  being  merely  his  minister,  the 
actual  working  out  of  his  providence.  Chance  does  not 
exist  at  all  (Book  IV).  But  if  God's  providence  rules 
all  things,  what  room  is  left  for  the  free  will  of  man? 
To  God,  who  is  the  only  eternal,  superior  to  the  acci- 
dent of  time,  all  things,  past,  present,  and  future,  lie 
open  in  an  'everlasting  now;'  and  all  these  things, 
being  patent  to  his  foreknowledge,  have  been  ordered 
by  him  into  a  divine  harmony.  But  to  man,  living 
under  the  condition  of  time,  seeing  only  the  past  and 
present,  blind  to  the  future,  there  is  at  the  moment  a 
real  freedom  of  choice.  God  foresees,  but  does  not  pre- 
destine ;  yet,  since  his  foreknowledge  is  infallible,  he 
overrules,  not  the  choice,  but  the  consequences  of  the 
choice.  Thus  the  freedom  of  man's  will  is  not  inconsis- 
tent with  God's  overruling  government  (Book  V). 

The  philosophy  of  the  Consolation,  though  not 
untouched  by  Christian  influence,  is  essentially  pagan, 
an  eclectic  blending  of  Plato  (and  the  Neo-Platonists) 
with  Aristotle  and  the  Stoics.  Boethius  is  indeed  the 
'  last  of  the  Romans.'  Noble  and  exalted  as  is  the 
spirit  which  informs  the  dialogue,  the  consolation  sought 
and  received  is  not  the  consolation  of  the  Christian  ;  it 
is  not  a  matter  of  faith,  but  of  reason.  It  is  curious 
that  the  subtle  theological  intellect  of  the  Middle  Ages 


84  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

should  have  accepted  it  with  whole-hearted  approval.1 
To  Chaucer  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy  became  the 
dominant  influence  in  all  his  more  speculative  thought. 
Under  its  guidance  he  philosophized  the  story  of  Troilus 
and  that  of  Palamon  and  Arcite;  it  is  the  thought  of 
Boethius  which  he  revitalizes  in  such  balades  as  Truth 
and  Fortune  and  The  Former  Age.2 

There  is  no  evidence  which  determines  precisely  the 
date  of  Chaucer's  translation.  It  is  included  in  the  list 
The  Trans-  of  the  poet's  works  given  in  the  Prologue  to 
lation.  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  and  must  there- 
fore be  earlier  than  1386.  Because  of  the  very  great 
Boethian  influence  on  Troilus,  and  because  of  the  fact 
that  Chaucer  mentions  Troilus  and  his  '  Boece '  together 
in  the  lines  addressed  to  Adam,  his  scrivener,  it  has  been 
thought  that  the  two  works  were  executed  at  about  the 
same  time,  i.e.  shortly  after  1380. 

Chaucer  used  for  his  translation  not  only  the  Latin 
original,  but  also  a  French  version,  probably  the  work 
of  Jean  de  Meun,  which  is  preserved  in  two  manuscripts 
of  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale  at  Paris.  As  only  a  few 
excerpts  from  this  translation  have  been  printed,  the 
precise  extent  of  Chaucer's  dependence  on  it  has  not 
been  determined;  but  his  debt  seems  to  have  been  con- 
siderable.8 Some  of  Chaucer's  many  glosses  are  taken 

1  The  Latin  text  of  the  Consolatio,  together  with  a  seventeenth- 
century  translation  by  '  I.  T.'  has  been  published  in  the  Loeb  Classical 
Library  (1918),  under  the  editorship  of  H.  F.  Stewart  and  E.  K. 
Rand. 

*  For  a  most  illuminating  account  of  Chaucer's  use  of  the  Consola- 
tion, and  for  a  discussion  of  his  translation  of  the  work,  see  B.  L. 
Jefferson,  Chaucer  and  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy  of  Boethivx, 
Princeton  University  Press,  1917. 

1  See  M.  H.  Liddell's  article  in  Academy,  1895,  II.  227,  and  his 
notes  in  the  Globe  Chaucer.  See  also  the  discussion  by  B.  L.  Jeffer- 
son, op.  cif.  pp.  1-9.  Dr.  Jefferson's  conclusions  were  independently 
corroborated  by  J.  L.  Lowes  in  Romanic  Review,  8.383-400  (1917). 


BOETHIUS  AND  THE  ASTROLABE           85 

over  from  the  French  version;  others  are  apparently 
from  the  commentary  of  Nicholas  Trivet.1 

Chaucer's  translation  is  not  free  from  blunders.  For 
some  of  these  the  corruptions  of  his  Latin  text  may  be 
responsible;  in  the  case  of  others  he  was  certainly  misled 
by  the  French  version.  But  on  the  whole  he  has  given 
a  faithful  and  able  rendering.  The  prose  style  of  the 
translation,  cumbersome  and  at  times  confused,  and  for 
our  modern  taste  much  too  rhetorical,  is  in  striking  con- 
trast with  the  directness  and  simplicity,  the  clearness 
and  grace,  of  Chaucer's  verse.  Mr.  Stewart  says  of  it : 2 
'It  is  certainly  not  in  prose  that  Chaucer's  genius 
shows  to  best  advantage.  The  restrictions  of  metre  were 
indeed  to  him  as  silken  fetters,  while  the  freedom  of 
prose  only  served  to  embarrass  him.'  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  say  that  for  Chaucer  and  for  his  contem- 
poraries prose  offered  not  untrammeled  freedom,  but 
the  intricacies  of  a  literary  medium  not  yet  mastered. 
For  the  prose  of  Chaucer's  translation,  if  not  always 
felicitous,  is  anything  but  artless.  It  employs  intricate 
alliteration,  balance  and  antithesis,  varied  cadence  of 
clause,  and  other  'colours  of  rethoryk.'  At  his  best, 
Chaucer  attains  to  a  dignity  and  eloquence  that  suggest 
the  perfection,  three  centuries  later,  of  this  same  tradi- 
tion of  rhetorical  prose  in  the  hands  of  John  Milton. 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  ASTROLABE 

An  astrolabe  is  'an  obsolete  astronomical  instru- 
ment of  different  forms,  used  for  taking  the  altitude  of 
the  sun  or  stars,  and  for  the  solution  of  other  problems 
in  astronomy.'  Chaucer's  Treatise  is  an  attempt  to 
expound  'under  ful  lighte  rewles  and  naked  wordes  in 

1  See  the  article  by  Miss  K.  O.  Petersen,    'Chaucer  and  Trivet' 
Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  18.  173-193  (1903). 
1  Boethius,  an  Essay,  p.  227.    " 


86  THE   POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

English,'  the  uses  of  the  instrument  and  the  elements 
of  astronomy  and  astrology,  for  the  benefit  of  '  litel 
Lowis  my  sone,'  who  had  attained  the  *  tendre  age  of 
ten  yeer.'  As  outlined  in  the  Prologue,  the  work  was  to 
have  consisted  of  five  parts ;  but  of  these  only  the  first 
and  part  of  the  second  were  completed.  As  the  '  yeer  of 
cure  lord  1391,  the  12  day  of  March  '  is  twice  used l  as 
an  example  in  the '  conclusions '  of  Part  II,  it  is  reason- 
able to  assume  that  the  year  1391  is  the  date  of  com- 
position. Chaucer  makes  no  claim  to  originality  in  his 
work :  *  I  ne  usurpe  nat  to  have  founde  this  werk  of  my 
labour  or  of  myn  engyn.  I  nam  but  a  lewd  compilatour 
of  the  labour  of  olde  Astrologiens,  and  have  hit  trans- 
lated in  myn  English  only  for  thy  doctrine  ;  and  with 
this  swerd  shal  I  sleen  envye.'  Professor  Skeat  has 
shown  that  the  *  old  astrologien '  from  whom  Chaucer 
has  drawn  the  great  bulk  of  his  material  is  a  Latin 
translation  of  a  treatise  by  Messahala,  an  Arabian 
astronomer  who  flourished  towards  the  end  of  the  eighth 
century,  entitled  Compositioet  Operatic  Astroldbie.  As 
the  tables  were  to  be  calculated  '  aftur  the  latitude  of 
Oxenford,'  it  has  been  assumed  that  little  Lewis  was 
a  student  in  the  Oxford  schools ;  beyond  this  we  know 
nothing  whatever  about  him,  and  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  he  may  have  died  before  reaching  manhood.  Since 
the  work  has  no  literary  value  save  that  of  clear  expo- 
sition, and  since  the  modern  reader  is  little  likely  to 
attempt  its  perusal,  it  is  not  necessary  to  discuss  it 
further,  except  to  call  attention  to  the  charming  char- 
acter of  the  introductory  sentences  addressed  by  the 
author  to  his  little  son.2 

1  2.  1.  6  and  2.  3.  18. 

2  The  treatise  has  been  edited  by  Mr.  A.  E.  Brae,  London,  1870,  and 
again  in  1872  by  Professor  Skeat  for  the  Chancer  Society.    Skeat's 
observations  are  repeated,  in  condensed  form,  in  the  Oxford  Chaucer, 
3.  Ivii-lxxx. 


CHAPTER  VI 
TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE 

OF  all  the  poems  of  Chaucer,  not  excepting  the  Can- 
terbury Tales,  none  is  more  characteristic  of  his  genius 
than  is  Troilus  and  Criseyde.  In  some  ways  it  is  his 
supreme  masterpiece;  for  it  is  the  only  work  of  large  di- 
mensions, requiring  a  sustained  effort  of  the  poetical 
imagination,  which  he  brought  to  completion.  In  mas- 
tery of  constructive  art,  in  perfect  finish  of  execu- 
tion, in  portrayal  of  character  and  easy  flow  of  action, 
above  all  in  its  dramatic  objectiveness  and  vivid 
actuality,  it  will  bear  comparison  with  any  narrative 
poem  in  the  language. 

Hitherto  Chaucer  had  written,  gracefully  and  wittily, 
in  the  school  of  French  allegory  and  dream- vision. 
With  Troilus  he  becomes  the  poet  of  living  humanity. 
Though  ostensibly  a  tale  of  Troy  long  ago,  it  makes  but 
the  scantest  attempt  to  suggest  the  world  of  classical 
antiquity.  Only  the  names  are  ancient;  the  characters, 
the  manners,  are  modern  and  contemporary.  Troy  is 
but  mediaeval  London,  besieged  as  it  might  have  been 
by  the  French.  The  parliament  which  King  Priam  con- 
venes is  an  English  parliament.  Troilus  might  as  well 
be  son  to  Edward  III.  Its  spirit  and  temper  is  that  of 
the  modern  novel  rather  than  of  the  mediaeval  romance. 
Were  it  written  in  prose,  it  would  be  called  the  first 
English  novel. 

To  the  taste  of  the  modern  reader,  particularly  at  a 
first  reading,  it  may  seem  in  places  tediously  prolix;  for 
considering  its  length  there  is  comparatively  little  ac- 


88  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

tion.  Its  interest  lies  not  in  rapid  action,  but  in  a  keen, 
minute,  almost  Richardsonian  portrayal  of  character 
and  situation.  Its  appeal  grows  with  a  second  reading 
or  a  third.  One  ceases  to  be  impatient  at  the  slowness  of 
progress,  and  looks  eagerly  in  every  stanza  for  subtle 
revelations  of  character  and  motive,  for  flashes  of  that 
ironical  humor  with  which  Chaucer  has  enlivened  his 
essentially  tragic  theme,  for  lines  of  haunting  poetic 
beauty.  Perhaps  the  poem  would  be  more  effective  still 
if  it  were  somewhat  condensed;  but  it  is  none  the  less 
true  that  from  beginning  to  end  there  is  not  a  stanza 
which  is  really  irrelevant. 

That  Troilus  and  Criseyde  was  written  and  already 
known  to  English  readers  before  1386  we  know  from  the 
Date  of  references  to  it  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend 
Composi-  of  Good  Women.  There  is,  further,  a  pre- 
tion.  sumption  amounting  to  virtual  certainty 

that  Chaucer  was  not  acquainted  with  Boccaccio's 
Filostrato,  his  primary  source  for  Troilus,  earlier  than 
his  first  Italian  journey  of  1373.  Within  this  period  of  a 
dozen  years  the  poem  cannot  be  dated  with  absolute 
certainty;  but  a  variety  of  considerations  points  strongly 
to  a  date  not  earlier  than  1382.  For  a  date  earlier  than 
that  the  only  important  evidence  is  found  in  a  passage 
of  Gower's  long  French  poem,  the  Miroir  de  VOmme, 
where  mention  is  made  of  'la  geste  de  Troylus  et  de  la 
belle  Creseide.'  If  Gower  is  alluding  to  Chaucer's  poem, 
we  must  date  Troilus  before  1377;  but  it  seems  probable 
that  Gower  is  thinking  of  some  earlier  version  of  the 
famous  story,  despite  the  fact  that  the  sole  surviving 
manuscript  of  the  Miroir  gives  the  name  of  the  lady  as 
'Creseide'  instead  of  'Briseide,'  the  name  under  which 
she  appears  in  Benoit  and  Guido.  The  most  definite 
evidence  for  a  later  date  is  found  in  the  plausible  inter- 
pretation which  sees  a  veiled.compliment  to  the  young 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  89 

Queen  Anne  in  a  passage  near  the  beginning  of  Troilus 
which  describes  Criseyde's  beauty:  — 

Right  as  our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A, 
In  beautee  first  so  stood  she,  makelees. 

Professor  J.  L.  Lowes  *  was  the  first  to  suggest  that 
this  curious  alphabetic  simile,  otherwise  rather  inept, 
refers  to  the  use  of  Queen  Anne's  initial  'A'  intertwined 
with  the  initial  'R'  of  her  royal  husband  as  a  decorative 
device  on  courtly  robes  and  tapestries.  If  this  interpre- 
tation is  correct  —  and  it  is  supported  by  documentary 
evidence  that  the  queen's  initial  was  actually  so  used  — 
the  passage  in  question  cannot  have  been  written  earlier 
than  January  14,  1382,  the  date  of  Richard's  marriage. 
A  date  between  1382  and  1384  is  so  thoroughly  in  accord 
with  all  the  probabilities  that  it  is  accepted  with  a  good 
deal  of  confidence.2 

If  written  between  1382  and  1384,  Troilus  is  a  work  of 
the  poet's  full  maturity  of  mind  and  art;  and  its  philo- 
sophic seriousness  and  superb  mastery  of  exe-  _.  .  . 

.  .          >_.,          .       Revision, 
cution  corroborate  the  supposition.  There  is 

abundant  testimony  that  Chaucer  wrought  out  his  mas- 
terpiece with  painstaking  care,  and  jealously  sought 
to  maintain  its  artistic  integrity.  Near  its  close  he  prays 
that  the  poem  may  escape  the  corruption  of  careless 
copyists:  — 

And  for  ther  is  so  greet  diversitee 
In  English  and  in  wryting  of  our  tonge, 
So  preye  I  god  that  noon  miswryte  thee, 
Ne  thee  mismetre  for  defaute  of  tonge; 

and  in  the  lines  addressed  to  Adam  his  own  scrivener, 

1  'The  Date  of  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Criseyde,'  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  23.  285-306  (1908). 

1  See  Professor  Kittredge's  Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Date  of 
Chaucer's  Troilus,  1908.  For  the  argument  in  favor  of  an  early  date, 
Bee  Professor  Tatlock's  Development  and  Chronology,  pp.  15-34- 


90  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

he  represents  himself  as  *  rubbing  and  scraping*  the 
manuscripts  of  Troilus  written  by  the  careless  scribe  to 
correct  their  errors  and  bring  them  into  textual  conform- 
ity with  his  own  'making.'  Nor  was  he  content  merely 
to  correct  scribal  errors.  The  manuscripts  of  the  poem 
which  have  survived  to  us  show  that  even  after  its  pub- 
lication Chaucer  continued  to  work  over  it,  rewriting 
lines,  substituting  a  more  felicitous  word,  changing  here 
and  there  the  order  of  the  stanzas.  Most  significant  of 
these  revisions  is  the  addition  of  three  new  passages  de- 
signed to  heighten  the  philosophical  tone  of  the  poem. 
These  are  Troilus's  hymn  to  love  as  the  perpetual  bond 
of'  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  (3.  1744-1771),  which 
is  closely  paraphrased  from  one  of  the  metres  of  Boe- 
thius;  the  long  soliloquy  of  Troilus  on  the  conflict 
between  divine  foreknowledge  and  human  freedom 
(4.  953-1085),  which  is  also  adapted  from  Boethius;  and 
the  three  stanzas  (5.  1807-1827)  near  the  close  of  the 
poem,  borrowed  from  Boccaccio's  Teseide,  which  de- 
scribe the  flight  to  heaven  of  the  soul  of  Troilus. 

There  is  no  evidence  to  determine  the  date  of  these 
revisions,  which  were  certainly  not  all  made  at  one  time. 
The  added  passages  seem  to  have  been  written  at  an 
early  period;  that  on  free  will  is  referred  to  by  Thomas 
Usk  in  his  Testament  of  Love  written  about  1387.  The 
manuscripts  on  which  Skeat's  text  of  the  poem  is  based 
contain  the  greater  part,  but  not  all,  of  Chaucer's  re- 
visions.1 

Of  the  many  sources  from  which  the  Middle  Age  sat- 
The  Troy  isfied  its  thirst  for  stories,  three  stand  out  pre- 
Story.  eminent.  There  is  first  the  '  matter  of  France ' 
with  its  heroic  tales  of  Charlemagne  and  Roland; 

1  For  a  full  account  of  the  problem  of  revision,  see  the  present 
writer's  Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Textual  Tradition  of  Chaucer's 
Troilus,  1916. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  91 

there  is  again  the  'matter  of  Brittany*  with  its  ro- 
mances of  the  Table  Round;  and  lastly,  the  source 
with  which  we  are  immediately  concerned,  'the  mat- 
ter of  Rome  the  Great.'  By  this  last  phrase  we  are  to 
understand,  of  course,  not  merely  Rome,  but  the 
whole  field  of  classical  antiquity,  —  the  wars  of  Alexan- 
der, the  tale  of  Thebes,  and  above  all,  the  'tale  of  Troy 
divine.' 

A  modern  author  who  should  wish  to  write  of  Troy 
would  turn  first  of  all  to  Homer;  but  in  the  Middle  Ages 
Homer  was  little  more  than  a  name.  There  must  always 
have  been  a  few  scholars  here  and  there  who  had  some 
knowledge  of  Greek,  picked  up  perhaps  on  journeys  to 
the  Levant;  but  for  the  vast  majority  of  those  who  read 
at  all,  Homer  was  accessible  only  in  the  Epitome  Iliados 
Homericce  of  Pindarus  Thebanus  (first  century),  where 
the  events  of  the  Iliad  are  condensed  into  1100  lines  of 
Latin  hexameter.  But  even  if  Homer  had  been  more 
easily  accessible,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  would  have 
satisfied  the  mediaeval  historian.  To  begin  with,  he 
lived  long  after  the  events  he  undertakes  to  describe; 
and  then,  too,  his  work  bears  the  marks  of  evident  false- 
hood, for  who  can  believe  that  the  gods  came  down  to 
earth  and  warred  with  men?  Fortunately  there  was  a 
better  authority  than  that  of  Homer,  the  authority  of  an 
eyewitness,  who  himself  took  part  in  the  expedition 
against  Troy.  This  important  document  is  the  Ephem- 
eris  Belli  Trojani  of  Dictys  the  Cretan. 

Dictys  Cretensis  was,  so  the  preface  of  the  Ephemeris 
tells  us,  a  dweller  in  Cnossus,  who  with  Idomeneus  and 
Merion  took  arms  against  Troy.  Realizing  with  rare 
insight  that  the  events  which  were  passing  by  unheeded 
of  most  would  be  of  deep  interest  to  the  generations  to 
follow,  Dictys  kept  a  journal  written  in  Phoenician  char- 
acters. On  the  author's  death,  the  six  books  of  his  chron- 


92  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

icle  were  buried  with  him  in  a  tin  case,  where  they  rested 
undisturbed  until  the  thirteenth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Nero,  when  they  were  fortunately  exposed  by  an  earth- 
quake. A  Greek,  named  Eupraxis,  carried  the  manu- 
script to  Rome,  where,  at  the  command  of  Nero,  it  was 
transliterated  into  Greek  characters,  and  from  the  Greek 
version  a  Latin  translation  was  made  by  one  Septimius 
Romanus.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  suggest  that  this 
story  must  not  be  taken  too  seriously.  Whether  the 
work  is  really  a  translation  from  the  Greek,  or  whether 
the  forgery  was  first  launched  in  its  present  form,  we 
cannot  say  with  certainty;  but  scholars  are  now  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  former  is  the  case.  The  translation, 
if  translation  it  be,  occupies  113  pages  of  Teubner  text, 
while  the  period  covered  begins  with  the  birth  of  Paris, 
and  ends  with  the  death  of  Ulysses.  The  prose  style  of 
the  author  is  fairly  good,  being  to  a  great  extent  an 
imitation  of  that  of  Sallust.  The  date  of  composition  is 
probably  the  fourth  century  A.  D.  The  following  passage 
taken  from  chapter  ix,  describing  the  death  of  Troilus, 
will  give  a  fair  idea  of  what  the  book  is  like :  — 

At  post  paucos  dies  Grseci  instructi  armis  processere  in 
campum  lacessentes,  si  auderent,  ad  bellandum  Trojanos. 
Quis  dux  Alexander  cum  reliquis  fratribus  militem  ordinat 
atque  adversum  pergit.  Sed  priusquam  ferire  inter  se  acies, 
aut  jaci  tela  ccepere,  barbari  desolatis  ordinibus  fugam  faciunt: 
caesique  eorum  plurimi,  aut  in  flumen  prseceps  dati,  cum  hinc 
atque  inde  ingrueret  hostis  atque  undique  adempta  fuga  esset. 
Capti  etiam  Lycaon  et  Troilus  Priamidse,  quos  in  medium 
perductos  Achilles  jugulari  jubet  indignatus  nondum  sibi  a 
Priamo  super  his,  quse  secum  tractaverat,  mandatum. 

Dictys  was  greatly  preferred  to  Homer,  because  he 
was  more  trustworthy,  being,  as  we  have  seen,  an  eye- 
witness, and  excluding  all  traces  of  the  supernatural; 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  93 

but  there  was  one  particular  in  which  he  was  not  per- 
fectly satisfactory :  he  was  a  Greek,  and,  as  such,  preju- 
diced against  the  Trojans,  who  were  our  ancestors.  It  is 
not  necessary,  however,  to  trust  to  the  narrative  of  a 
single  prejudiced  historian;  by  good  fortune  there  was 
also  an  historian  within  the  walls  of  Troy.  The  De  Ex- 
cidio  TrojcB  Historia  of  Dares  the  Phrygian  gives  us  an 
authentic  account  of  the  war  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
defeated  Trojans. 

Homer  mentions  (Iliad,  5.  9)  one  Dares,  a  rich  man 
and  blameless,  a  priest  of  Hephaestus.  To  him  antiquity 
ascribed  an  Iliad  older  than  Homer's.  Of  this  lost  work, 
probably  the  work  of  a  sophist,  the  Latin  version  pur- 
ports to  be  a  translation  made  by  Cornelius  Nepos.  A 
recently  discovered  papyrus  proves  that  a  Greek  original 
really  existed,  of  which  the  Latin  version  is  a  condensa- 
tion; but  the  condensation  was  certainly  not  made  by 
Nepos.  Professor  Constans,  the  editor  of  Benoit,  char- 
acterizes the  Historia  as  *  un  assemblage  disproportion^ 
de  maigres  details  ecrit  en  un  latin  barbare  et  horrible- 
ment  monotone.'  It  cannot  have  been  composed  earlier 
than  the  sixth  century  A.  D.  That  Constans  has  not  been 
too  hard  on  Dares  may  be  shown  by  the  following  selec- 
tion (chapter  xxix) :  — 

Posters  die  Trojani  alacres  in  aciem  prodeunt.  Agamem- 
non exercitum  contra  educit.  Proslio  commisso  uterque  exer- 
citus  inter  se  pugnat.  Postquam  major  pars  diei  transiit, 
prodit  in  primo  Troilus,  csedit  devastat,  Argivos  in  castra 
fugat.  Postera  die  exercitum  Trojani  educunt:  contra  Aga- 
memnon. Fit  maxima  csedes,  uterque  exercitus  inter  se  pug- 
nat acriter.  Multos  duces  Argivorum  Troilus  interficit. 
Pugnatur  continuis  diebus  VII.  Agamemnon  indutias  petit 
in  duo  menses. 

Fifty-two  pages  of  Teubner  text  are  filled  with  such 


94  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 


wretched  stuff  as  this!  But  despite  its  inferiority,  Dares 
seems  to  have  been  more  popular  with  the  Middle  Ages 
than  Dictys.  He  was  a  Trojan,  and  therefore  a  country- 
man; he  was  at  any  rate  mercifully  brief;  perhaps,  as 
Ten  Brink  suggests,  the  very  fact  that  the  work  is  but 
an  epitome  made  it  all  the  more  available  for  the  expan- 
sion and  adornment  which  the  Troy  story  was  to  receive 
at  the  hands  of  Benoit  de  Sainte-More.1 

In  the  latter  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  according  to 
Constans  between  1155  and  1160,  appeared  a  work 
which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  whole  later  develop- 
ment of  the  legend  of  Troy;  this  is  the  Roman  de  Troie 
of  Benoit  de  Sainte-More.  Of  Benoit,  as  of  so  many 
authors  of  the  Middle  Ages,  we  know  nothing  with  cer- 
tainty; but  his  book  is  a  very  substantial,  and  to  the 
student  a  rather  appalling,  fact  of  30,316  lines  of  octo- 
syllabic couplets.  Using  as  his  basis  the  brief  epitome  of 
Dares,2  and  supplementing  the  matter  there  found  from 
Dictys  and  Ovid,  and  perhaps  other  authors  still,  Benoit 
has  given  us  a  detailed  history,  which  begins  with  the 
Argonautic  expedition,  describes  the  rape  of  Helen,  the 
gathering  of  the  Greek  hosts,  and,  after  telling  the  events 
of  the  siege  and  fall  of  Troy,  devotes  5000  lines  to  the 
return  of  the  Greek  warriors  to  their  homes,  ending  with 
the  death  of  Ulysses.  One  would  not  like  to  be  compelled 
to  read  the  Roman  through  from  cover  to  cover;  but 
taken  in  moderate  doses,  Benoit  has  a  good  deal  of 
poetic  charm.  Compared  with  Dictys  and  Dares,  Benoit 
is  great  literature. 

A  little  more  than  a  century  after  the  appearance  of 
the  Roman  de  Troie,  in  1287,  an  Italian  named  Guido 

1  There  is  some  reason  to  believe  that  a  much  longer  Latin  version 
of  Dares  may  have  been  extant  in  the  Middle  Ages,  of  which  the  exist- 
ing Historia  is  a  condensation. 

*  Or  perhaps  a  longer  version  of  Dares,  now  lost. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  95 

delle  Colonne  produced  in  turgid  Latin  prose  a  para- 
phrase of  Benoit's  French  poem.  Guido,  who  was  care- 
ful to  say  nothing  about  his  indebtedness  to  Benoit,  not 
only  succeeded  in  passing  off  his  Historia  Trojana  as  an 
original  composition;  but  was  until  after  the  middle  of 
the  nineteenth  century  actually  believed  to  be  the  origi- 
nal from  whom  Benoit  drew  the  material  of  his  Roman. 
Guido  added  little  to  the  substance  of  the  tradition;  but 
because  his  work  was  in  the  universal  language  of  Eu- 
rope, it  attained  a  wide  circulation,  was  translated  into 
many  languages,  and  became  the  basis  for  several  Mid- 
dle English  'Troy  Books,'  of  which  Lydgate's  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  important. 

Before  considering  the  Filostrato  of  Boccaccio,  the 
immediate  source  of  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Criseyde,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  look  back  once  more  over  the  ground 
already  traversed,  and  notice  the  degree  of  prominence 
given  by  earlier  authors  to  the  figures  of  Chaucer's  pair 
of  lovers.  Homer  merely  mentions  in  a  single  passage 
(Iliad,  24.  257)  the  chariot-fighter  Troilus  as  one  of  the 
sons  of  Priam  whom  Ares  has  destroyed.  Virgil  devotes 
a  few  lines  to  an  account  of  his  death  (Mneid,  1.  474- 
478) .  Criseyde,  or  Briseida  as  Benoit  calls  her,  probably 
represents  two  Homeric  personages:  Briseis,  the  slave 
of  Achilles,  whose  name  appears  in  the  accusative  Bri- 
seida in  Iliad,  1.  184,  and  Chryseis,  daughter  of  the  seer 
Chryses,  who  is  taken  from  Agamemnon  at  the  com- 
mand of  Apollo.  The  accusative  of  her  name,  Chry- 
seida,  occurs  in  Iliad,  1.  182.  As  the  professor  of  leger- 
demain will  take  two  thin  rabbits,  and,  rubbing  them 
together  in  his  hands,  present  u,s  with  one  particularly 
fat  rabbit,  so  these  two  unimportant  characters  have 
combined  to  form  the  heroine  of  the  mediaeval  tale  of 
Troy.  In  Dictys  and  Dares,  Troilus  has  become  a  more 
important  figure  among  the  sons  of  Priam,  and  Briseida 


96  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCEE 

is  accorded  some  prominence;  but  there  is  no  hint  of  any 
relationship  between  them. 

It  is  to  Benoit  de  Sainte-More,  so  far  as  we  can  de- 
termine, that  must  be  given  the  credit  of  inventing  the 
story  of  the  faithful  love  of  Troilus  and  the  faithlessness 
of  Criseyde.  One  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  the 
story  furnishes  the  central  theme  of  his  voluminous 
work.  It  is  merely  an  episode,  which,  during  about  a 
third  of  his  work,  serves  to  relieve  the  annals  of  blood- 
shed. We  first  meet  the  episode  at  line  13065,  when  a 
parliament  is  held  to  decide  upon  the  return  of  Briseida 
to  the  Grecian  camp;  the  death  of  Troilus  occurs  a 
thousand  lines  before  the  end  of  the  poem.1  In  the  main 
the  events  recorded  agree  with  those  described  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  poems  of  Boccaccio  and  Chaucer. 
Though  a  King  Pandarus  is  mentioned  by  Benoit 
as  one  of  the  councilors  in  the  Trojan  parliament, 
he  bears  no  part  in  the  determination  of  the  fortunes 
of  Troilus  and  his  love. 

It  was  the  genius  of  Boccaccio  which  first  recognized 
in  the  Troilus  and  Briseida  episode  of  Benoit  the  mate- 
rial for  a  single  and  unified  love  story.  '  Boccaccio  seems 
to  have  known  both  Guido  and  Benoit;  Italian  transla- 
tions of  both  were  then  in  existence;  and  on  their  basis 
he  built  up  one  of  his  most  charming  works,  the  most 
perfect  of  his  epic  poems.  .  .  .  The  story  lay  before  him 
finished,  as  part  of  a  richly  organized  whole,  and  his 
only  creative  work  was  that  specially  suited  to  the  poet, 

1  Benoit's  poem  is  available  in  the  admirable  edition  of  Leopold 
Constans,  published  in  six  volumes  by  the  Societfi  des  Anciens  Textes 
Francais,  Paris,  1904-1912.  The  last  volume  of  this  edition  contains 
a  very  useful  discussion  not  only  of  Benoit,  but  of  the  development  of 
the  Troy  story  as  a  whole.  A  summary  of  those  parts  of  the  poem 
which  deal  with  Troilus  and  Briseide  may  be  found  in  Professor 
Kittredge's  Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Date  of  Chaucer's  Troilus, 
pp.  62-65. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  97 

viz.,  the  exercise  of  selection,  of  spiritual  penetration,  of 
deepening  the  characterization,  and  of  glorifying  all  by 
a  poetic  presentation.  .  .  .  This  tender,  sentimental  tale 
(for  the  poet  passes  quickly  over  the  conclusion,  and  all 
the  warlike  scenes)  is  presented  by  Boccaccio  with  great 
psychological  discernment,  and  with  the  most  personal 
participation,  though  here  and  there  with  a  slight  tinge 
of  irony.  A  truly  creative  spirit  is  revealed  by  the  way 
in  which  the  details  are  worked  out,  and  by  the  thousand 
little  touches  that  make  us  interested  in  his  characters. 
But  all  these  touches  converge  to  one  point,  all  have 
the  same  tendency.'  1 

Benoit's  episode,  as  we  have  seen,  begins  with  the 
departure  of  the  heroine  for  the  Greek  camp;  and  in 
consequence  the  main  interest  of  the  tale  centers  about 
her  intrigue  with  Diomede,  the  Troilus  story  serving  as 
little  more  than  an  introduction.  All  the  earlier  scenes 
of  the  Filostrato  are  Boccaccio's  invention.  To  serve  as 
motive  force  for  this  earlier  part  of  the  story,  the  poet 
has  invented  the  character  of  Pandarus.  The  Panda- 
rus  of  Boccaccio,  to  be  sure,  is  a  character  in  many 
ways  different  from  the  Pandarus  whom  we  know  from 
Chaucer;  he  is  a  young  and  sprightly  Florentine  gen- 
tleman, an  intimate  companion  of  Troilus,  and  a  cousin 
to  Criseida. 

In  the  preceding  section  of  this  chapter  we  have 
traced  the  development  of  the  Troy  myth  as  a  whole, 
and  have  seen  how  the  genius  of  Boccaccio,  Boccaccio, 
seizing  on  a  single  episode  of  Benoit's  Ro-  andshake- 
man,  has  made  a  new  and  independent  ro-  speare. 
mance,  not  of  battles  long  ago,  but  of  lovers  and  their 
love.  This  new  creation  has  become  one  of  the  great 
world-stories,  both  in  virtue  of  its  intrinsic  interest  and 
because  of  its  use  by  three  great  world-poets :  Boccaccio, 

i  Ten  Brink,  History  of  English  Literature  (Eng.  trans.),  2.  88-90, 


98  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Chaucer,  and  Shakespeare.  It  is  in  the  highest  degree 
interesting  to  see  how  these  three  poets  have  altered  or 
modified  the  theme,  each  in  accordance  with  his  own 
character  and  underlying  literary  purpose.  Boccaccio  is 
a  thoroughgoing  sentimentalist,  and  he  has  told  the 
story,  accordingly,  with  full  sympathy.  Troilo  is  a  por- 
trait of  the  poet  himself,  generous,  high-spirited,  enthu- 
siastic, sentimental.  He  has  been  in  love  before;  but  on 
beholding  Criseida  in  the  temple,  as  Boccaccio  first  be- 
held Fiammetta,  he  loves  her  with  all  his  soul.  Pandaro 
is  a  gay,  light-hearted,  loose-principled  gallant,  such  as 
Boccaccio  may  have  known  at  the  Neapolitan  court. 
Criseida  is  a  fickle  beauty,  and  little  more.  Troilo  is  the 
central  figure  of  the  poem,  and  with  his  love  longings  in 
the  earlier  part  of  the  tale,  and  still  more  with  his  later 
sorrow,  the  reader  is  asked  to  sympathize  in  fullest 


measure.1 

When  Chaucer  approached  the  story,  he  was  no  longer 
young.  Though  he  professes  himself  the  servant  of  the 
servants  of  love,  he  dares  not  hope  success  in  love  him- 
self, 'for  myn  unlyklinesse.'  If  he  identifies  himself  with 
any  of  the  persons  of  his  story,  it  is  with  the  ironist  Pan- 
dar,  rather  than  with  the  sentimental  Troilus.  He  tells 
the  story  with  more  detachment  than  does  Boccaccio. 
Into  its  fundamental  tragedy  he  breathes  a  spirit  of 
ironical  humor,  which  is  all  but  totally  foreign  to  the 
Italian  poem.  Even  as  he  recounts  the  idealism  of  Tro- 
ilus and  presents  the  inexhaustible  charm  of  Criseyde, 
he  is  conscious  of  the  bitter  mockery  of  both  which  is  to 
be  provided  by  Criseyde's  ultimate  treachery.  That 
such  angelic  beauty  and  womanly  charm  should  reside 
in  a  nature  so  essentially  shallow  and  unstable,  that  the 

1  An  English  translation  of  the  pertinent  parts  of  the  Filostrato  by 
W.  M.  Rossetti  has  been  published  by  the  Chaucer  Society:  Chaucer's 
Troilus  and  Criseyde  (from  the  Harl.  MS.  3943)  compared  with 
Boccaccio's  Filostrato,  translated  by  W.  M,  Rossetti,  London,  1873.  ' 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  99 

youthful  ardor  and  utter  loyalty  of  Troilus  should  be 
expended  on  a  woman  capable  of  Criseyde's  baseness, 
that  is  part  of  the  mystery  and  mockery  of  human  life. 
And  so,  if  Chaucer's  poem  has  much  more  humor  than 
Boccaccio's,  it  has  also  a  much  higher  seriousness,  a 
seriousness  which  becomes  at  the  end  a  philosophic  in- 
terpretation of  the  action,  and  through  it  of  the  ultimate 
values  of  life.  Criseyde's  falsehood  becomes  a  type  of 
the  fallacy  of  all  earthly  happiness.  But  if  life  is  certain 
to  deceive,  it  is  none  the  less  very  interesting,  very  amus- 
ing; and  Chaucer  dwells  with  the  subtle  analysis  of  great 
comedy  on  the  complications  of  his  tragic  plot,  the  inter- 
play of  motive,  above  all  on  the  psychological  problems 
of  Criseyde's  character.  The  result  is  a  poem  which  is 
neither  tragedy  nor  comedy,  but  a  masterpiece  of  irony. 

Though  in  a  very  different  spirit,  Chaucer  has  in  gen- 
eral followed  the  outline  of  Boccaccio's  poem.  At  times, 
for  many  stanzas  together,  he  is  content  to  follow  its 
very  words.  But  he  has  very  appreciably  expanded  his 
original;  Filostrato  contains  5512  lines,  Troilus  has  8239. 
The  greater  part  of  Chaucer's  additions  are  found  in  the 
second  and  third  books.  The  whole  episode  of  the  meet- 
ing of  the  lovers  at  the  house  of  Deiphebus  has  no  coun- 
terpart in  Filostrato;  wholly  original  also  is  the  elaborate 
stratagem  by  which  Pandarus  brings  the  lovers  to- 
gether at  his  own  house.1 

If  Chaucer  has  transformed  the  spirit  of  the  story 
from  pathetic  sentimentality  to  half-ironical  humor, 

1  For  the  relation  of  Troilus  to  its  sources  see  Professor  Karl 
Young's  Chaucer  Society  volume,  Origin  and  Development  of  the 
Story  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde,  1908,  and  H.  M.  Cummings,  The  In- 
debtedness of  Chaucer's  Works  to  the  Italian  Works  of  Boccaccio, 
Princeton  dissertation,  1916.  Professor  Young  has  argued  that  the 
episode  of  the  first  night  of  his  lovers  was  suggested  to  Chaucer  by  an 
episode  in  the  Filocolo,  a  prose  romance  of  Boccaccio.  Dr.  Cumminga 
has,  I  think  with  justice,  thrown  grave  doubt  on  the  probability  of 
such  indebtedness. 


100      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Shakespeare,  in  his  Troilus  and  Cressida,  has  approached 
it  in  a  spirit  of  bitter  cynicism  and  blackest  pessimism.1 
The  love  story,  which  is  after  all  subordinate  to  the 
intrigues  of  the  Grecian  camp,  has  neither  the  romance 
of  Boccaccio  nor  the  humor  of  Chaucer;  it  is  merely  dis- 
gusting. Troilus  remains  much  what  he  is  in  Chaucer; 
but  Cressida  has  flung  away  every  pretense  of  virtue, 
and  is  merely  a  confessed  wanton.  Pandarus  has  lost  all 
his  geniality  and  humor,  and  is  merely  repulsive.  To 
crown  all,  the  final  worthlessness  of  Cressida,  and  the 
breaking  heart  of  Troilus,  are  interpreted  to  us  by  the 
scrofulous  mind  of  Thersites,  whose  whole  function  in 
the  play  is  to  defile  with  the  foulness  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion all  that  humanity  holds  high  and  sacred.2 

Chaucer's  main  source  for  Troilus  is  the  Filostrato  of 
Boccaccio;  it  is,  indeed,  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the 

English  poem  is  a  free  reworking  of  the  Ital- 
'Lollius.'       .          ™  u  u  -xu  XL- 

lan.  Chaucer  has,  to  be  sure,  with  something 

of  the  scholar's  instinct,  gone  back  of  his  immediate 
original,  and  consulted  for  a  point  here  and  there  the 
works  of  Benoit  and  of  Guido.  Though  there  is  no  proof 
that  he  used  the  prose  Dares,  he  did  use  for  the  portraits 
of  the  dramatis  persona  which  he  draws  in  the  fifth  book 
the  twelfth-century  paraphrase  of  Dares  in  Latin  hex- 
ameters by  the  Englishman,  Joseph  of  Exeter.3  With 
the  artist's  instinct,  he  has  reshaped  his  characters,  and 

1  For  the  reasons  which  may  have  actuated  Shakespeare's  treat- 
ment of  the  story,  see  the  essay  by  W.  W.  Lawrence  in  the  Columbia 
University   Press  volume  of  Shaksperian  Studies  (New  York,  1916), 
pp.  187-211. 

2  Those  who  wish  to  pursue  the  theme  still  further  in  English  liter- 
ature may  read  Dryden's  version  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  in  which  the 
character  of  the  heroine  is  vitally  altered  by  a  new  interpretation  put 
vipon  her  relations  with  Diomed. 

3  See  the  article  by  R.  K.  Root,  '  Chaucer's  Dares,'  Modern  Phi- 
lolofjy,  15.  1-22  (1917).  Chaucer  seems  to  have  known  Dictys  only  by 
name. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  101 

added  two  important  episodes  to  the  plot;  but  his  debt 
to  Boccaccio  remains  preponderant. 

Nowhere,  however,  does  he  so  much  as  mention  Boc- 
caccio's name.  Instead,  he  professes  to  follow  with  strict 
fidelity '  myn  autour  called  Lollius.'  Twice,  once  nearjthe 
beginning  of  the  poem  and  again  near  its  end,  he  men- 
tions 'Lollius'  by  name;  and  he  appeals  to  him  by  im- 
plication as '  myn  autour '  in  half  a  dozen  other  passages. 
The  identification  of  this  mysterious  'Lollius'  is  a  prob- 
lem which  has  hitherto  baffled  the  critics;  for,  though 
one  can  find  actual  authors  who  bear  the  name  of  Lol- 
lius, or  something  resembling  it,  none  of  them  has  writ- 
ten the  tale  of  Troy.  Our  most  probable  guess  is  that 
the  notion  that  some  one  named  Lollius  had  written  of 
the  Trojan  war  is  to  be  traced  to  a  misreading  of  the 
opening  lines  of  one  of  the  epistles  of  Horace,  the  second 
epistle  of  Book  I :  — 

Troiani  belli  scriptorem,  maxime  Lolli, 
Dum  tu  declamas  Romae,  Praeneste  relegi. 

It  seems  clear  that  Chaucer  did  not  invent  'Lollius'  out 
of  whole  cloth,  that  he  really  believed  that  some  'Tro- 
iani belli  scriptor  maximus '  named  Lollius,  a  Latin  poet 
of  long  ago,  had  actually  existed;  for  he  mentions  him 
also  in  the  House  of  Fame,  along  with  Homer,  Dares, 
Dictys,  and  Guido  delle  Colonne,  as  one  who  bears  up 
the  fame  of  Troy.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  the  Latin 
work  of  'Lollius,'  which  he  had  never  seen,  was  the  im- 
mediate source  of  the  Italian  Filostrato,  that  in  following 
Filostrato  he  was  but  following  Lollius  at  second  hand. 
At  any  rate,  Chaucer  chose  to  cite  as  his  chief  authority 
the  work  of  'Lollius,'  a  Latin  poet  of  long  ago,  instead 
of  a  contemporary  work  written  in  the  vernacular  of 
Italy.1  He  could  thus  lend  to  his  story  an  air  of  greater 

1  It  is  not  at  all  impossible  that  Chaucer  did  not  know  who  was  the 
author  of  Filostrato. 


102  THE  POETEY  OF  CHAUCER 

credibility,  as  though  it  were  in  all  essentials  authentic 
history.  Nor  was  there  anything  in  the  literary  ethics  of 
the  Middle  Ages  which  demanded  of  Chaucer  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  actual  debt.  Every  good  story  was 
regarded  as  common  property.  A  mediaeval  author  ad- 
duced authority  whenever  by  so  doing  he  could  add 
credit  to  his  own  work,  never  in  recognition  of  an  obliga- 
tion.1 

In  the  proem  to  Book  II,  Chaucer  warns  his  readers 
that  there  is  more  than  one  way  to  make  love :  — 

Eek  for  to  winne  love  in  sondry  ages, 
In  sondry  londes,  sondry  been  usages. 

If  it  was  necessary  for  the  poet  to  forestall  the  possible 
criticism  of  fourteenth-century  lovers  to  whom  the 
Courtly  speech  and  doings  of  his  hero  might  seem 
Love.  'wonder  nyce  and  straunge,'  it  is  much  more 
necessary  to  forestall  similar  criticism  from  the  modern 
reader.  The  art  of  love  has,  like  every  other  art,  its 
conventions;  but  these  conventions  change  greatly  in 
sundry  ages  and  in  sundry  lands.  The  love  of  Troilus 
and  Criseyde  is  told  in  accordance  with  the  code  of 
courtly  love,  the  code  which  is  assumed  in  the  French 
romances  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  in 
Chretien  de  Troves  and  Marie  de  France,  the  code  which 
is  allegorically  presented  in  the  Roman  de  la  Rose. 

One  of  the  central  features  of  this  code  is  that  ideal 
love  is  seldom  if  ever  compatible  with  marriage.  Mod- 
ern readers  of  Troilus  are  sure  to  ask  why  Troilus  did  not 
marry  Criseyde.  If  Troilus  is  a  prince  royal,  Criseyde  is 
at  least  a  lady  of  excellent  social  standing,  and  appar- 
ently of  wealth.  There  could  have  been  no  serious  bar  to 

1  For  the  latest  discussion  of  the  Lollius  problem  and  for  a  review 
of  earlier  discussions,  see  G.  L.  Kittredge,  'Chaucer's  Lollius,'  Har- 
vard Studies  in  Classical  Philology,  28.  47-133  (1917).  The  interpreta- 
tion given  above  is  in  essentials  that  of  Professor  Kittredge. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  103 

a  marriage,  had  the  lovers  so  wished.  But  the  idea  of 
marriage  is  never  once  suggested.  In  the  code  of  courtly 
love  marriage  is  an  arrangement  of  convenience  quite 
outside  the  region  of  romantic  love.  Marriage  implies, 
theoretically  at  least,  the  subjection  of  wife  to  husband; 
and  in  the  love  of  the  romances  the  lady  rules  supreme, 
her  lightest  whim  a  law.  A  twelfth-century  writer  on  the 
art  of  love,  Andreas  Capellanus,  reports  a  decision  of  the 
Countess  Marie  of  Champagne  that  love  cannot  exist 
between  husband  and  wife,  'amorem  non  posse  suas 
inter  duos  iugales  extendere  vires.'  1 

But  courtly  love  is  in  no  sense  platonic.  Far  removed 
as  it  is  from  grossness  and  mere  sensuality  by  its  elabo- 
rate idealization,  it  seeks  final  consummation  in  the 
complete  surrender  of  the  lady.  When  Crispyde-accepts 
Troilus  as  her  lover,  she  grants  by  implication  the  be- 
stowal of  her  ultimate  favors.  Nor  does  such  a  bestowal 
incur  from  the  courtly  poet  the  slightest  hint  of  blame. 
The  relation  established  is  an  ideal  relation,  with  all  the 
sanctity  which  modern  feeling  casts  about  an  ideal  mar- 
riage. Chaucer  repeatedly  tells  us  that  the  influence  on 
Troilus  of  his  love,  both  in  the  period  of  his  despairing 
adoration  and  that  of  his  final  possession,  was  an  enno- 
bling one.  In  the  field  of  battle  against  the  Greeks  he  was 
a  very  lion;  and  among  his  friends  in  Troy  his  manner 
became  so  goodly  and  gracious  'that  ech  him  lovede 
that  loked  on  his  face.'  When  Criseyde  takes  her  fare- 
well of  Troilus  just  before  she  sets  out  for  the  Grecian 
camp,  she  tells  him  that  it  was  not  his  rank  and  riches, 
nor  yet  his  martial  prowess,  which  first  won  her  love, 
'but  moral  vertue  grounded  upon  trouthe.' 2 

1  Andrese  Capellani  de  Amore  libri  tres,  ed.  Trojel  (1892)  p.  153. 
For  a  useful  summary  of  the  code  of  courtly  love  and  a  detailed  study 
of  its  exemplification  in  the  works  of  Chaucer,  see  W.  G.  Dodd, 
Courtly  Love  in  Chaucer  and  Gower,  Boston,  1913. 

*  See  Troilus,  1,  1075-1082;  3.  1802-1806;  4.  1667-1673. 


104      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

We  are  to  accept  the  love  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde, 
then,  as  something  pure  and  ideal  like  the  love  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  even  though  it  lack  the  sanction  of  wedlock. 
And  yet  this  noble  and  ennobling  union  must  be  kept 
inviolably  secret.  Were  it  avowed  and  known,  the  lady's 
reputation  would  be  irreparably  soiled.  Pandarus  re- 
peatedly warns  Troilus  that  he  must  not  blab;  and  when, 
after  the  Trojan  parliament  has  decreed  Criseyde's  re- 
turn to  her  father,  Troilus  urges  that  they  flee  together 
to  some  far  land,  Criseyde  pleads  her  reputation  against 
it:  — 

And  also  thenketh  on  myn  honestee, 
That  floureth  yet,  how  foule  I  sholde  it  shende. 
And  with  what  filthe  it  spotted  sholde  be, 
If  in  this  forme  I  sholde  with  yow  wende. 

So  at  all  costs  the  union  must  be  kept  secret,  and  the 
meetings  of  the  lovers  must  be  clandestine.  This  ir- 
reconcilable conflict  of  standards,  that  a  love  which  is 
regarded  as  not  only  right  and  proper  but  ideally  noble 
should  if  known  become  the  height  of  dishonor,  marks 
the  essential  artificiality  of  the  whole  code  of  courtly 
love.  But  artificial  or  not,  we  must  accept  its  postulates 
if  we  are  to  understand  the  fundamental  problem  of 
Troilus.  We  must  not  consider  the  clandestine  and  il- 
licit love  of  Troilus  as  in  any  sense  a  derogation  of  his 
noble  character;  nor  must  we  regard  Criseyde's  accept- 
ance of  his  love,  scrupulously  concealed  as  it  is  from  all 
eyes,  as  any  reflection  on  her  honor.  Criseyde's  sin  is  not 
that  she  becomes  the  mistress  of  Troilus,  but  that  hav- 
ing pledged  her  love  she  becomes  unfaithful.  For  in 
courtly  love,  as  in  the  whole  system  of  chivalric  ethics, 
the  greatest  of  the  virtues  is  truth  and  loyalty,  and  the 
blackest  crime  is  that  of  faithlessness.  As  Dante  reserves 
the  lowest  pit  of  his  Inferno  for  the  treachery  of  Brutus 
and  Cassius  and  Judas  Iscariot,  so  the  deepest  condem- 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  105 

nation  of  the  courtly  lover  is  visited  on  the  faithless 
Criseyde,  the  renegade  of  true  love. 

It  is  in  the  light  of  these  conventions  of  courtly  love 
that  one  must  analyze  the  character  of  Chaucer's  hero- 
ine. In  Book  I  we  see  Criseyde  only  at  a  dis- 

*    .  ,  Cnseyde. 

tance;  but  even  so  we  are  captivated  at  first 

sight,  as  Troilus  is,  by  her  beauty  and  charm.  We  are 
touched,  too,  with  pity  for  her  in  the  trying  situation  in 
which  she  is  placed,  and  with  admiration  for  the  fine 
dignity  with  which  she  meets  it.  Her  father,  Calchas, 
knowing  by  his  magic  art  that  Troy  is  doomed  to  de- 
struction, has  basely  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  and  left 
his  daughter  to  bear  alone  and  unprotected  the  anger 
which  the  Trojan  populace  is  ready  to  visit  on  all  his  kin. 
She  is  a  widow,  also,  recently  bereaved.  And  so,  alone 
and  in  great  peril,  she  throws  herself  on  the  protection  of 
Hector,  who  chivalrously  promises  her  full  immunity. 
She  is  living,  then,  in  strict  retirement  in  her  own  stately 
house  with  three  young  nieces  to  bear  her  company,  and 
so  'keeps  her  estate'  that  she  wins  the  full  respect  and 
love  of  every  one.  But  who  could  help  loving  a  lady  of 
such  exquisite  beauty? 

So  aungellyk  was  hir  natyf  beautee, 
That  lyk  a  thing  inmortal  semed  she, 
As  doth  an  hevenish  parfit  creature, 
That  doun  were  sent  in  scorning  of  nature. 

Not  only  is  she  beautiful,  there  is  a  queenly  dignity  and 
grandeur  in  her  port. 

April  comes  and  with  it  the  great  feast  of  Palladion, 
the  Trojan  Easter  day,  when  every  one  goes  to  church 
in  his  best  clothes;  and  Criseyde  in  her  simple  widow's 
black  goes  too.  Ever  conscious  of  her  father's  shame, 
she  takes  an  inconspicuous  station  near  the  door;  but 
having  yielded  so  much  to  her  sense  of  disgrace,  her 


106      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

proud  spirit  never  falters.  She  has  a  'ful  assured  loking 
and  manere,'  with  just  a  touch  of  defiance  in  it.  It  is 
while  she  stands  thus  in  the  temple  that  Troilus  sees  her 
from  afar,  and  is  struck  to  the  heart  by  her  beauty  and 
dignity. 

This  is  all  that  we  see  of  Criseyde  in  Book  I;  though 
her  presence,  to  be  sure,  fills  all  the  long  scene  of  Troi- 
lus's  feverish  love-longing. 

Book  II  may  be  called  the  book  of  Criseyde.  An  over- 
whelming proportion  of  its  lines  is  directly  dedicated  to 
the  unfolding  of  her  character,  and  to  the  subtle  analysis 
of  her  heart  as  the  figure  of  Troilus  gradually  establishes 
itself  there.  On  a  May  morning  Pandarus  goes  on  his 
embassy  to  Criseyde's  house.  He  finds  her  in  a  'paved 
parlour'  with  two  other  ladies,  listening  to  the  'geste  of 
the  Sege  of  Thebes,'  quite  undisturbed  by  the  fact  that 
its  author,  Statius,  was  not  to  be  born  till  near  the  mid- 
dle of  the  first  century  A.D.  He  playfully  asks  if  it  is  a 
book  of  love  she  is  reading,  and  is  laughingly  answered 
by  an  allusion  to  his  own  unrequited  love.  No  small  part 
of  Criseyde's  charm  is  conveyed  through  these  scenes 
with  her  uncle,  scenes  of  playful  badinage,  in  which  her 
wit  is  quite  the  equal  of  his.  Uncle  and  niece  meet  on 
the  most  gracious  terms  of  long  established  affection  and 
understanding,  with  free  give  and  take  of  kindly  banter. 

In  answer  to  Pandar's  suggestion  that  she  put  away 
her  book  and  rise  up  and  dance,  she  reminds  him  that 
she  is  a  widow:  — 

It  sete  me  wel  bet  ay  in  a  cave 

To  bidde,  and  rede  on  holy  seyntes  lyves; 

Lat  maydens  gon  to  daunce,  and  yonge  wyves. 

This  protestation  is  hardly  to  be  taken  with  full  serious- 
ness; and  yet  it  suggests,  I  think,  something  of  the  truth. 
Criseyde  has  come  to  regard  herself,  in  the  life  of  quiet 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  107 

seclusion  which  follows  on  her  widowhood  and  her  fa- 
ther's shameful  treachery,  as  forever  cut  off  from  the 
brighter  things  of  life.  It  is  a  state  of  mind  by  no  means 
unfavorable  to  the  discovery  that  she  has  won  the  love 
of  Troilus,  when  once  she  has  had  time  to  make  the 
necessary  adjustments.  Pandarus  pays  no  attention  to 
her  words,  but  immediately  begins  to  play  on  her  wo- 
man's curiosity  by  hinting  at  a  great  piece  of  news  that 
he  could  tell  her  if  he  would.  He  plays  with  his  secret 
through  a  dozen  stanzas,  insinuating  into  his  speech  the 
praise  of  Troilus,  the  friendliest  of  princes,  second  only 
to  Hector  in  prowess.  Then  at  last,  after  much  teasing, 
he  tells  her  the  news,  giving  her  no  chance  to  reply  till  he 
has  spoken  ten  stanzas  of  appeal  and  argument. 

Was  the  news  a  complete  surprise  to  Criseyde,  or  had 
she  during  the  month  which  had  elapsed  since  the  feast  of 
Palladion  suspected  the  truth?  We  cannot  say.  Chau- 
cer himself  raises  the  question,  but  professes  his  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  answer.  In  any  case  she  receives  the 
news  calmly:  — 

Criseyde  which  that  herde  him  in  this  wyse, 
Thoughte,  '  I  shal  fele  what  he  meneth,  ywis.' 
'  Now,  eem,'  quod  she,  '  what  wolde  ye  devyse, 
What  is  your  reed  I  sholde  doon  of  this?'/ . 

But  when  Pandar  has  given  his  advice  that  she  return 
love  for  love,  this  cool  deliberation  melts  into  a  passion- 
ate burst  of  tears  and  reproaches,  that  he,  her  uncle  and 
her  best  friend,  should  counsel  her  to  love.  These  tears 
are  the  natural  reaction  which  follows  on  the  first  clear 
recognition  of  the  terrifying  possibility  that  she,  the 
widow  and  the  recluse,  may  begin  again  to  live  passion- 
ately. Her  resentment  is  short-lived,  and  she  listens 
trembling  to  Pandar's  threat  that  her  hard  heart  will  be 
the  death  not  only  of  Troilus  but  of  himself  as  well.  Is 


108      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

there  after  all  any  evil  in  her  uncle's  advice  that  she 
smile  on  Troilus,  when  she  has  the  solemn  assurance 
that  he  means  no  'harm  or  vilanye'? 

And  if  this  man  slee  here  himself,  alias! 
In  my  presence,  it  wol  be  no  solas. 
What  men  wolde  of  hit  deme  I  can  nat  seye; 
It  nedeth  me  ful  sleyly  for  to  pleye. 

Criseyde  has  recovered  her  self-control.  In  the  lines 
just  quoted,  and  even  more  in  the  long  soliloquy  in 
which  she  weighs  the  pro's  and  con's  of  love,  one  realizes 
how  complete  this  self-control  is.  There  is  in  these 
speeches  a  tone  of  cool  calculation  which  to  many  readers 
may  seem  unpleasant,  a  trait  of  character  which  appears 
again  in  the  fourth  book  when  she  builds  her  hope  for  a 
speedy  return  to  Troy  on  the  avarice  of  her  aged  father. 
In  appraising  these  speeches,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  Criseyde  is  not  a  young  girl,  with  the  impulsive 
idealism  of  her  maidenhood.  Just  how  old  she  is  we  do 
not  know,  —  Chaucer  himself  professes  that  he  does  not 
know  either  —  ;  but  one  feels  that  she  is,  in  experience 
at  least,  older  than  Troilus.  She  has  been  married  and  is 
now  a  widow.  'I  am,'  she  says,  'myn  owene  woman,  wel 
at  ese.'  Though  love  of  Troilus  has  already  found  lodg- 
ment in  her  heart,  it  does  not  sweep  her  off  her  feet.  She 
does  not  so  much  fall  in  love  as  drift  into  love;  but  she 
drifts  with  her  eyes  open. 

Pandarus  takes  his  leave,  too  shrewd  in  his  knowledge 
of  Criseyde's  character  to  press  her  to  a  decision.  But  he 
has  made  his  effect,  and  the  effect  is  powerfully  height- 
ened by  the  circumstances  which  follow.  By  great  good 
fortune,  Troilus  himself  is  presented  to  her  view,  Troilus 
the  mighty  warrior  returning  from  battle  on  his  wounded 
charger.  Here  is  a  living  argument.  Criseyde  considers 
his  excellent  prowess,  his  wit,  his  shape,  his  courtesy, 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  109 

and  above  all  his  love  for  her.  Would  it  not  be  a  pity  to 
cause  the  death  of  such  an  one  as  he?  And  last  of  all  her 
niece,  Antigone,  sings  her  song  in  praise  of  love,  every 
word  of  which  imprints  itself  on  Criseyde's  heart.  'And 
ay  gan  love  hir  lasse  for  to  agaste  than  it  dide  erst.' 

On  the  next  day  Pandarus  returns  to  the  attack  with 
a  letter  from  Troilus,  which  Criseyde  at  first  refuses  to 
receive,  but  at  last  consents  to  answer.  Once  more,  this 
time  by  Pandar's  appointment,  the  knightly  Troilus 
rides  by  her  window.  Though  she  will  write  to  her  lover, 
she  offers  him  only  a  sister's  regard.  She  will  not  agree 
to  speak  to  him :  — 

it  were  eek  to  sone 
To  graunten  him  so  greet  a  libertee. 
For  playnly  hir  entente,  as  seyde  she, 
Was  for  to  love  him  unwist,  if  she  mighte, 
And  guerdon  him  with  nothing  but  with  sighte. 

It  is  a  prime  article  in  the  code  of  courtly  love,  as  in 
our  modern  conventions  of  love-making,  that  the  lady 
must  not  let  herself  be  too  easily  won.  Troilus  and 
Pandar  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  result 
of  these  two  days  of  wooing;  for  the  lady  has  at  least 
acquiesced  in  the  courtship,  and  her  words  'eek  to  sone' 
and  '  if  she  mighte '  suggest  the  promise  of  more  to  come. 

Up  to  this  point  Chaucer's  story  follows  essentially, 
though  with  greater  elaboration  of  detail,  that  of  his 
Italian  model.  But  here  Boccaccio's  heroine  consents, 
with  merely  formal  protest,  to  receive  her  lover  as  soon 
as  time  and  place  shall  serve,  provided  only  that  due 
secrecy  be  maintained;  and  the  joy  of  the  lovers  is 
shortly  consummated.  For  the  character  of  Criseyde  as 
Chaucer  has  conceived  it,  such  a  course  of  action  would 
have  been  much  too  direct.  It  would  have  required  a 
definite  decision  instead  of  a  genial  drifting  with  circum- 
stance. It  is  a  striking  fact  that  Criseyde,  with  all  her 


110      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

native  self-assurance,  never  takes  a  single  step  of  her 
own  volition.  And  so,  that  she  may  seem  to  herself  to 
have  been  ensnared  rather  than  to  have  capitulated, 
Pandarus  gives  full  play  to  his  love  of  cunning  stratagem. 
It  is  a  most  ingenious  stratagem,  plausible  in  its  devis- 
ing, and  skillfully  controlled  by  the  master  strategist 
down  to  the  smallest  detail,  which  brings  Criseyde  to 
the  feigned  sick-bed  of  the  truly  love-sick  Troilus  at  the 
house  of  Deiphebus,  where  Troilus  first  has  the  chance 
to  plead  his  own  cause.  This  meeting  proves  to  be  the 
decisive  moment  of  the  story;  for  Criseyde,  though 
unable  to  make  a  decision,  accepts  completely  a  decision 
which  has  been  made  for  her  by  the  logic  of  events,  or 
by  the  scheming  of  her  uncle.  She  would  very  likely 
have  refused  to  grant  Troilus  a  private  meeting;  but 
here  is  the  meeting  devised  without  her  consent.  It  is 
Troilus,  not  Criseyde,  who  is  panic-stricken.  She  listens 
to  his  passionate  declarations,  quietly  asks  him  to  tell 
her  'the  fyn  of  his  entente,'  and  after  listening  to  his 
reply,  says  slowly  and  deliberately:  — 

1 1  shal  trewely,  with  al  my  might, 
Your  bittre  tornen  al  into  swetnesse; 
If  I  be  she  that  may  yow  do  gladnesse, 
For  every  wo  ye  shal  recovere  a  blisse'; 
And  him  in  armes  took,  and  gan  him  kisse. 

This  is  complete  surrender,  and  Pandarus  recognizes  it 
as  such.  Criseyde  has,  to  be  sure,  stipulated  that  her 
honor  must  not  be  compromised;  but  she  acquiesces  by 
her  silence  in  Pandar's  promise  that  he  will  shortly  de- 
vise a  secret  meeting  of  the  lovers  at  his  own  house, 
where  they  shall  have  full  leisure  'to  speke  of  love 
aright.' 

It  is  in  fulfillment  of  this  promise  that  Pandarus  in- 
vites Criseyde  to  supper  at  his  house,  and  after  refusing 
to  let  her  return  home  in  the  downpour  of  rain,  brings 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  111 

Troilus  to  her  bed.  This  scene  is  another  masterpiece 
of  Pandar's  strategy;  but  it  is  a  plot  in  which  the  ap- 
parent victim  is  at  least  an  acquiescent  accomplice.  At 
an  openly  avowed  meeting  and  consummation  of  her 
love,  such  as  the  Italian  Criseida  herself  arranges,  Chau- 
cer's heroine  would  probably  have  balked.  Her  woman's 
modesty,  or  at  least  her  shrinking  from  an  irrevocable 
decision,  is  still  to  be  overcome.  The  act  must  seem  to 
her  inevitable,  not  of  her  own  choosing;  and  yet  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  she  accepted  her  uncle's  invitation 
knowing  well  that  Troilus  was  to  meet  her.  Pandar's 
denial  of  her  suspicion  is  a  virtual  acknowledgment  of 
its  truth.  As  to  her  acceptance  of  this  denial,  Chaucer 
himself  professes  ignorance :  — 

Nought  list  myn  auctor  fully  to  declare 
What  that  she  thoughte  whan  he  seyde  so, 
That  Troilus  was  out  of  town  yfare, 
As  if  he  seyde  therof  sooth  or  no. 

When  we  remember  that  Chaucer's  'auctor'  does  not 
relate  this  episode  of  the  supper-party  at  all,  it  is  not 
strange  that  he  does  not  'fully  declare'  the  heroine's 
motives.  Chaucer's  assumed  ignorance  is  only  his  char- 
acteristic way  of  hinting  rather  than  asserting  his  own 
interpretation.  Criseyde  herself  settles  the  question 
beyond  any  doubt.  When  Troilus  clasps  her  in  his  arms 
and  begs  her  to  yield,  she  replies:  — 

'Ne  hadde  I  er  now,  my  swete  herte  dere, 
Ben  yolde,  ywis,  I  were  now  not  here. ' 

Again  Criseyde  accepts  with  full  frankness  the  accom- 
plished fact.  The  events  of  this  first  night  have  been  so 
devised  by  Pandarus  that  they  seem  inevitable  as  a 
decree  of  fate;  but  now  irrevocably  in  her  lover's  arms, 
Criseyde  avows  that  not  fate  nor  fortune,  but  her  own 


112      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

love  has  brought  her  there.  It  is  a  very  subtle  touch  in 
Chaucer's  portrayal  of  the  woman's  heart.  To  herself 
she  must  seem  to  have  yielded  only  to  inevitable  fate; 
but  to  her  lover  she  wished  to  be  not  a  helpless  victim 
but  an  offering  of  free  love. 

The  last  barriers  of  womanly  reluctance  have  been 
overcome;  and  Criseyde  loves  Troilus  as  passionately 
and  unreservedly  as  he  loves  her.  Judged  by  the  stand- 
ards of  courtly  love,  the  relation  now  established  be- 
tween the  lovers  is  an  ideal  and  noble  one.  As  Criseyde 
says,  it  is  a  love  — 

ayeins  the  which  that  no  man  may, 
Ne  oughte  eek  goodly  maken  resistance. 

The  relation  must  be  kept  secret,  or  her  honor  will  be 
gone.  That  is  one  of  the  conditions  of  courtly  love. 
But,  save  for  a  half-hearted  reproach  to  Pandarus  for 
his  share  in  the  matter,  Criseyde  has  no  regrets;  nor 
does  Troilus  ever  suggest  that  there  is  anything  shame- 
ful in  this  clandestine  love.  Two  or  three  years  pass  in 
unbroken  happiness,  until  the  August  day  when  the 
Trojan  parliament  decrees  that  Criseyde  be  delivered 
over  to  her  father,  and  all  the  lovers'  weal  is  turned  to 
woe.  Up  to  this  point,  Criseyde's  behavior  has  been 
above  reproach.  With  scrupulous  observance  of  all  the 
conventions  of  courtly  love,  she  has  accepted  as  her 
lover  a  knight  who  in  worth  and  chivalric  prowess  is 
second  only  to  Hector;  and  she  has  loved  him  not 
sensually,  but  nobly  and  purely,  won  not  by  'veyn 
delyt'  but  by  his  'moral  vertue  grounded  upon  trouthe.' 
But  this  lady  whose  loveliness  and  charm  have  capti- 
vated not  only  Troilus,  but  Chaucer  and  his  readers  as 
well,  must  in  the  sequel  become  a  hissing  and  reproach, 
the  shame  of  all  her  sex.  She  is  false  to  Troilus  and  to 
her  solemnly  plighted  word;  she  allows  herself  to  be 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  113 

wooed  and  won  with  most  indecent  haste  by  the  master- 
ful but  cynical  Diomede.  By  the  slightest  turn  of  for- 
tune, this  catastrophe  might  have  been  averted,  and 
the  story  given  a  pathetic  but  heroic  end.  In  her  grief 
at  the  prospect  of  leaving  Troilus,  a  grief  the  sincerity 
of  which  we  may  not  doubt,  Criseyde  falls  into  a  death- 
like swoon;  and  Troilus,  believing  her  to  be  really  dead, 
draws  his  sword  and  is  on  the  point  of  ending  his  own 
life.  Had  he  done  so,  Criseyde  would,  she  tells  us,  have 
slain  herself  with  the  same  sword.  Had  events  taken 
this  course,  we  should  have  had  an  ending  like  that  of 
Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  or  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Or  a  dif- 
ferent woman  in  Criseyde's  place  might  have  accepted 
Troilus's  urgent  proposal  that  they  defy  all,  and  in  de- 
spite of  Priam  and  his  parliament  flee  to  some  foreign 
land.  Had  Troilus  taken  things  boldly  into  his  own 
hands  and  resolutely  carried  her  off,  she  would  prob- 
ably have  acquiesced;  but  he  humbly  leaves  the  judg- 
ment to  her.  It  is  one  of  those  irrevocable  decisions 
which  Criseyde  is  incapable  of  making.  She  thinks  too 
precisely  on  the  event  —  the  injury  to  her  own  reputa- 
tion and  to  that  of  Troilus  should  he  desert  his  be- 
leaguered city  in  its  need,  the  life  of  wandering  exile 
which  would  lie  ahead  for  both  of  them.  It  is  so  much 
easier  to  accept  the  circumstances  which  fate  and  for- 
tune have  shaped.  And  so  she  departs  for  the  Grecian 
camp  with  solemnly  reiterated  promises  to  return  by 
the  tenth  day,  'but  if  that  deeth  me  assayle.' 

But  once  in  her  father's  tent,  she  finds  that  return 
is  not  easy.  Once  more  she  thinks  upon  the  event  — 
she  may  be  taken  as  a  spy,  she  may  fall  into  the  hands 
of  lawless  men.  She  lacks  the  resolution  necessary  for 
so  bold  a  step.  She  still  purposes  to  return  —  but  not 
to-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow.  And  there  is  Diomede,  the 
sudden  Diomede,  who  boldly  begins  his  courtship  be- 


114      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

fore  they  reach  the  Grecian  camp.  He  is  no  idealizing 
courtly  lover,  but  a  somewhat  cynical  man  of  the  world, 
a  mediaeval  Lovelace,  whose  motto  is:  — 

He  is  a  fool  that  wo!  foryete  himselve. 

Diomede  does  not  lose  his  heart;  he  merely  improves  a 
good  opportunity  to  win  a  lady's.  All  the  greater  will 
be  his  conquest  if,  as  he  suspects,  she  has  a  lover  in 
Troy.  He  needs  no  intriguing  Pandarus  to  help  him;  he 
spends  no  sleepless  nights.  With  a  man  of  such  force 
and  resolute  will,  the  hesitating  Criseyde  is  helpless. 
At  first  she  neither  accepts  nor  rejects  his  courtship. 
Once  more  she  prefers  to  drift  with  circumstance.  She 
does  not  cease  to  care  for  Troilus;  but  in  her  loneliness 
the  company  of  Diomede  is  very  pleasant.  How,  after 
all,  shall  she  return  to  Troy;  and  is  not  the  fate  of  the 
city,  as  Diomede  tells  her,  certain  destruction?  On  the 
very  day  of  her  promised  return,  when  faithful  Troilus 
is  feverishly  watching  from  the  city  walls  for  a  first 
sight  of  her,  she  is  listening  not  unwilling  to  the  love- 
making  of  Diomede;  and  both  Troilus  and  Troy  town 
are  slipping  '  knotless '  through  her  heart.  In  less  than 
two  months  she  has  accepted  completely  the  new  inevi- 
table. 

Over  the  details  of  Diomede's  courtship  and  Cri- 
seyde's  infamy,  her  gift  to  him  of  the  bay  steed  and  of  the 
brooch  which  had  belonged  to  Troilus,  Chaucer  passes 
hurriedly,  with  continual  appeal  to  the  authority  of 
'the  story*  and  of  'myn  auctor.'  With  utmost  reluc- 
tance, and  of  sheer  compulsion,  he  narrates  the  shame 
of  Criseyde  as  it  stands  recorded  in  his  old  books.  Her 
indecision,  her  irresolute  tendency  to  drift  with  circum- 
stance, the  trait  of  character  which  Chaucer  sums  up  in 
the  phrase,  'slydinge  of  corage,'  have  brought  her  to  the 
depths  of  ignominy.  Criseyde's  damnation  is  complete. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  115 

Though  Chaucer's  chief  interest  in  the  story  would 
seem  to  lie  in  the  personality  of  Criseyde,  it  is  none 
the  less  true  that  Troilus  remains  its  central  Troilus 
figure.  He  is  at  least  titular  hero.  When 
Criseyde's  unfaithfulness  is  accomplished,  she  fades 
from  the  story;  the  fortunes  of  Troilus  are  followed  till 
his  death,  and  with  his  death  the  poem  ends.  The  sub- 
ject of  the  poem,  as  set  forth  in  its  opening  line,  is  the 
'double  sorrow  of  Troilus.'  Its  concluding  moral  is 
pointed  as  his  soul,  mounting  the  heavens,  looks  back 
and  despises  this  wretched  world  that  'passeth  sone  as 
floures  fayre.' 

Boccaccio  drew  the  character  of  Troilo  as  the  type 
of  his  own  passionate  love  for  Fiammetta;  and  Chaucer 
has  left  it  in  all  essentials  unchanged,  though  appre- 
ciably ennobled.  Troilus  is  the  ideal  lover  of  chivalric 
love,  utterly  faithful,  utterly  humble  in  his  self-effacing 
subjection  to  his  lady.  So  completely  is  he  the  lover 
that  one  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  that  he  is  also  the 
intrepid  warrior,  'hardy  as  lyoun,'  'save  Ector,  most 
ydrad  of  any  wight.'  To  the  shouting  multitudes  who 
acclaimed  him  as  he  passed  through  the  streets  on  his 
way  home  from  battle,  he  was  not  the  sighing  lover, 
but  'our  loye,  and  next  his  brother  holdere  up  of  Troye.' 
And  it  is  this  Troilus,  'al  armed  save  his  heed,'  mounted 
on  his  bay  steed,  whose  image  sank  into  the  heart  of 
Criseyde. 

With  Troilus  the  warrior  the  modern  reader  finds 
himself  in  immediate  sympathy;  but  with  Troilus  the 
lover  he  is  in  danger  of  losing  patience,  unless  he  un- 
derstand clearly  what  sort  of  a  character  Chaucer  is 
portraying,  unless  he  realize  how  the  courtly  lover  of 
mediaeval  romance  is  expected  to  behave.  His  utter 
faithfulness  to  Criseyde,  his  unwillingness  to  doubt  her 
good  faith  long  after  the  shrewder  Pandarus  sees 


116      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

clearly  that  she  will  not  return,  needs  no  apology.  It  is 
a  point  in  which  the  mediaeval  code  of  love  is  in  full 
accord  with  the  conventions  of  modern  romance.  It  is 
the  utter  humility  of  Troilus,  his  complete  subjection  to 
his  lady,  his  conviction  of  his  own  unworthiness,  which 
may  seem  to  the  modern  reader  unnatural.  And  yet 
here  also  the  mediaeval  and  the  modern  code  are  not  so 
far  apart.  Modern  convention  demands  that  the  lover 
proclaim  himself  '  not  nearly  good  enough '  for  his  lady, 
and  declare  that  he  is  'the  luckiest  of  men'  to  win  her. 
If  the  friends  of  the  modern  lover  are  tempted  to  smile 
at  him,  so  does  Pandarus  more  than  once  smile  at  the 
extravagances  of  Troilus.  Nor  does  Chaucer  take  Tro- 
ilus quite  seriously;  he  tells  us  that  the  first  letter  of 
Troilus  was  filled  with  'thise  othere  termes  alle  that  in 
swich  cas  these  loveres  alle  seche';  and  a  few  lines  later 
he  reports:  — 

And  after  that  he  seyde,  and  ley  fid  loude, 
Himself  was  litel  worth,  and  lesse  he  coude. 

These  protestations  of  unworthiness,  however  sincerely 
uttered,  are  actually  nothing  but  lies.  Troilus  himself 
had  once  jested  at  the  woes  of  hapless  lovers. 

Thoroughly  in  accord  with  the  mediaeval  depiction  of 
love  are  the  pallor  and  sleeplessness  and  loss  of  appetite 
which  afflict  Troilus,  his  sighs  and  tears  and  the  tremors 
which  seize  him  when  he  is  about  to  speak  to  Criseyde 
for  the  first  time.  They  are  the  recognized  symptoms 
of  the  lover's  malady,1  symptoms  not  wholly  unknown 
in  modern  love-stories.  Before  we  accuse  this  second 
Hector  of  unmanliness  in  the  luxuriance  of  his  grief, 
we  must  remember  that  he  indulges  in  these  sighs  and 
tears  only  when  alone  or  in  the  sympathetic  company 

1  See  J.  L.  Lowes,  'The  Loveres  Maladye  of  Hereos,'  Modern 
Philology,  11.  491-546  (1914). 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  117 

of  his  closest  friend.  From  all  others  his  woes  are  jeal- 
ously guarded;  nor  did  the  Greeks  discover  any  lack  of 
manliness  on  the  battle-field. 

But  even  so,  Troilus  does  luxuriate  in  his  sorrow, 
which  is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  he  is  a  good 
deal  of  a  sentimentalist.  With  him  emotion  and  desire 
become  an  end  in  themselves  rather  than  a  spur  to  ac- 
tion. Without  the  aid  of  Pandarus  he  would  perhaps 
never  have  let  Criseyde  know.  It  is  in  his  helplessness 
to  further  his  own  cause  that  Troilus  ceases  to  be 
merely  the  typical  lover  and  becomes  individualized. 
This  tendency  to  luxuriate  in  his  own  sorrow  is  the 
trait  of  character  which,  in  league  with  fate,  brings 
about  his  tragedy.  In  the  first  sorrow  of  his  double 
portion  he  is  supplied  by  Pandarus  with  the  active 
force  which  he  lacks.  Through  the  tireless  energy  and 
devotion  of  his  friend  he  breaks  down  Criseyde's  reluc- 
tance to  harbor  love,  and  all  is  well.  But  in  his  second 
sorrow,  when  Criseyde  must  leave  him,  Pandarus  can 
give  no  help  beyond  patient  sympathy.  It  is  no  time 
for  intrigue  and  skillful  manipulation;  if  there  was  any 
way  out  for  Troilus,  it  was  through  quick  decision  and 
resolute  action.  Of  such  action  the  sentimental  Troilus 
is  not  capable.  He  defers  the  decision  to  Criseyde,  who 
characteristically  follows  the  path  of  least  resistance. 
For  himself,  he  can  only  withdraw  to  a  temple  and  bit- 
terly debate  with  himself  the  question  of  God's  provi- 
dence and  man's  free  will.  This  long  Boethian  soliloquy 
has  been  regarded  as  a  digression  and  an  artistic  blem- 
ish in  the  poem.  Prolonged  beyond  its  due  proportion 
it  may  be;  but  it  is  no  more  a  digression  than  are  the 
soliloquies  of  Hamlet.  It  is  thoroughly  in  accord  with 
the  character  of  Troilus  as  Chaucer  conceived  him.1 

1  See  the  article  by  Dr.  H.  R.  Patch  on  '  Troilus  on  Predestination,' 
Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology,  17.  399-422  (1918). 


118      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

For  Troilus  in  his  love  for  Criseyde  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  free  choice.  It  was  his  destiny  that  he  should 
love  Criseyde;  and  from  the  moment  that  he  confides 
in  Pandarus,  his  destiny  is  in  the  hands  of  his  friend. 

It  is  with  a  mingling  of  pathos  and  irony  that  Chaucer 
depicts  the  closing  scenes  of  Troilus's  story.  While 
Criseyde  is  receiving  the  advances  of  Diomede,  Troilus 
is  sadly  revisiting  the  scenes  of  his  former  happiness, 
looking  with  the  eyes  of  tender  sentiment  at  the  barred 
windows  of  her  empty  house.  The  tenth  day  comes, 
and  we  witness  the  feverish  watching  of  Troilus.  Pan- 
darus encourages  his  hopes,  but  in  his  own  heart  he 
knows  better.  The  evidences  of  Criseyde's  faithless- 
ness are  at  last  too  clear  for  even  Troilus's  credulity. 
His  fair  dream  is  shattered;  the  lady  whom  he  has 
idealized  in  joy  and  sorrow  has  proved  false.  Nothing 
remains  but  his  own  integrity.  His  only  hope  is  to  seek 
release  from  the  emptiness  of  a  deceitful  world  by  speedy 
death  in  battle.  And  so  Troilus  'repeyreth  hoom  from 
worldly  vanitee.'  He  has  anticipated  by  a  little  the 
doom  which  hangs  over  his  city  and  all  his  kin.  He  is 
the  tragic  victim  of  Fortune  and  of  his  own  character. 

The  dominating  personage  of  the  poem  is  neither  Cri- 
seyde nor  Troilus,  but  Pandarus,  prime  mover  of  the 

plot  during   hah*  the  story  and   the  hero's 
Pandarus.  ,.,  .    ,  . 

conndant  throughout.  It  is  his  character,  gay 

and  genial,  shrewd  and  ironic,  which  gives  the  poem  its 
prevailing  tone,  the  tone  of  humorous  irony  which  all 
but  overshadows  the  essential  tragedy. 

This  masterly  figure,  perhaps  the  finest  example  of 
Chaucer's  art  in  portraiture,  is  almost  wholly  the  Eng- 
lish poet's  original  creation.  The  Pandaro  of  Boccaccio 
is  a  young  man,  the  cousin  of  Criseida  (and  of  Troilo 
also),  a  high-spirited  gallant,  not  much  differentiated, 
save  in  his  fortunes,  from  the  hero,  Troilo.  He  acts 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  119 

as  messenger  and  go-between  for  the  lovers;  but  the 
much  readier  susceptibility  of  the  Italian  heroine 
makes  unnecessary  any  elaborate  scheming  and  artifice. 
And  Pandaro  is  quite  devoid  of  the  humor  which  is  so 
salient  a  quality  of  his  English  counterpart. 

Though  Chaucer  has  depicted  the  character  of  his 
Pandarus  in  minute  detail,  he  has  nowhere  described 
his  personal  appearance;  nor  has  he  given  any  certain 
indication  of  his  age.  But  the  impression  we  receive 
is  of  a  man  distinctly  older  than  either  of  the  lovers. 
He  is  Criseyde's  uncle,  a  relationship  which  suggests  — 
though  it  does  not  necessarily  imply  —  that  he  is  some 
years  her  senior.  The  terms  of  charming  intimacy  and 
playful  banter  on  which  they  meet,  the  trust  and  con- 
fidence which  Criseyde  reposes  in  him,  again  suggest 
the  older  man  and  the  younger  woman.  But  the  differ- 
ence in  their  ages  need  not  be  more  than  ten  or  a  dozen 
years;  for  Pandarus  is  not  old,  hardly  even  middle-aged. 
He  is  at  any  rate  not  too  old  to  play  the  courtly  lover. 
He  has  loved  'gon  sithen  longe  whyle'  a  lady  whose 
heart  pity  for  him  has  never  softened.  He,  like  Troilus, 
has  times  of  sleeplessness  and  pallor,  when  he  feels 
'his  part  of  loves  shottes  kene';  but  for  the  most  part 
he  bears  his  sorrow  easily.  Criseyde  rallies  him  about 
it;  and  Pandarus  himself  jokes  about  his  'jolly  woe' 
and  '  lusty  sorrow '  which  will  not  let  him  sleep  of  a  May 
morning,  and  humorously  describes  himself  as  hop- 
ping lamely  behind  in  the  dance  of  love.  And  yet  we 
must  not  doubt  that  Pandarus  is  genuinely  the  unsuc- 
cessful lover;  it  is  one  of  the  ironies  of  his  character 
that  he  can  win  a  lady  for  his  friend  but  not  for  him- 
self. 

He  is  young  enough,  also,  to  be  the  friend  and  in- 
separable companion  of  Troilus.  He  has,  he  tells  us, 
loved  Troilus  'in  wrong  and  right'  all  his  life.  It  is  a 


120      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

strong  and  loyal  friendship,  with  no  faintest  suspicion 
of  self-seeking.  To  his  friendship  he  sacrifices  rest  and 
honor. 

For  from  the  mediaeval  point  of  view  as  well  as  from 
the  modern,  the  role  which  Pandar  plays  is  one  of  in- 
famy and  dishonor;  and  he  clearly  recognizes  that  were 
his  actions  to  be  known  he  would  be  regarded  as  guilty 
of  'the  worste  trecherye'  to  his  niece.  She  also  regards 
his  advocacy  of  Troilus's  love  as  a  breach  of  faith.1 
The  conventions  of  courtly  love  hold  Troilus  free  of 
blame,  and  Criseyde  so  long  as  she  remains  true,  but 
not  so  her  uncle,  whom  circumstance  has  placed  in 
the  position  of  a  father  to  her,  or  an  elder  brother,  and 
who  betrays  his  trust.  Had  he  been  merely  the  friend 
of  Troilus,  acting  as  confidant  and  messenger,  it  would 
have  been  different;  but  as  Criseyde's  uncle,  he  should 
have  been  her  jealous  guardian.  His  only  defense  is 
that  he  acts  from  motives  of  pure  friendship.  Professor 
Kittredge  has  put  very  clearly  the  tragic  conflict  of 
duties  which  confronts  Pandarus  as  the  friend  of  Troilus 
and  the  uncle  of  Criseyde.  'This  double  relation  is  the 
sum  and  substance  of  his  tragedy,  for  it  involves  him 
in  an  action  that  sullies  his  honor  to  no  purpose.  Since 
Cressida  is  faithless,  he  not  only  labors  in  vain,  but 
ruins  his  friend  by  the  very  success  that  his  plans 
achieve.  This  humorous  worldly  enthusiast  has  two 
ideals,  friendship  and  faith  in  love.  To  friendship  he 
sacrifices  his  honor,  only,  it  seems,  to  make  possible 
the  tragic  infidelity  of  Cressida,  which  destroys  his 
friend.2 

Though  Pandar  sacrifices  all  to  the  ideal  of  friend- 
ship, he  is  not  like  Troilus  an  idealist.  He  does  not 
sentimentalize  his  friendship,  nor  yet  his  own  unre- 

x    i  See  Troilus,  3.  271-279;  2.  410-413.  Cf.  Filostrato,  3.  8. 
«  Chaucer  and  his  Poetry,  pp.  139,  140. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  121 

quited  love.  It  is  one  of  his  outstanding  traits  of  char- 
acter that  he  clearly  faces  the  facts,  that  he  sees  things 
as  they  are;  if  he  deceives  others,  he  never  deceives 
himself.  His  love  for  Troilus  does  not  blind  him  to  his 
friend's  foolish  extravagance  in  love;  he  can  laugh  at 
Troilus  as  he  can  laugh  at  his  own  hapless  love-story. 
Even  while  he  is  comforting  Troilus  through  his  ten 
days'  waiting  for  Criseyde's  return,  he  sees  clearly  that 
the  hope  of  Troilus  is  vain: — 

But  in  his  herte  he  thoughte,  and  softe  lough. 
And  to  himself  ful  sobrely  he  seyde: 
'From  hasel-wode,  ther  loly  Robin  pleyde, 
Shal  come  al  that  that  thou  abydest  here; 
Ye,  farewel  al  the  snow  of  feme  yere.' 

Pandar  'softe  lough.'  He  is  always  laughing,  at  himself, 
at  others,  at  the  irony  of  life  which  he  so  clearly  sees  — 
Mais  ou  sont  les  neiges  d'antan?  — ;  and  yet  his  laughter 
does  not  preclude  sympathy.  More  than  once  we  see 
him  weep  at  the  woes  of  others.  In  his  blending  of 
ironical  humor,  clear  vision,  unfailing  sympathy,  he 
has  much  in  common  with  the  poet  who  created  him. 

If  there  is  much  about  him  which  is  worldly,  he  is 
also  in  the  better  sense  of  the  word  a  man  of  the  world. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  grace  and  charm  of  his  man- 
ners and  his  conversation,  playful,  witty,  full  of  shrewd 
observation.  He  handles  Troilus  and  Criseyde  with 
equal  tact;  he  is  easy  master  of  every  situation.  Best 
of  all,  he  is  never  dull. 

Troilus  and  Criseyde  is  a  masterpiece  not  only  in  its 
keen  analysis  of  character,  but  in  the  skill  with  which 
its  plot  is  conceived  and  developed;  its  art  Narrative 
is  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word  dramatic.  Ali" 
Troilus  first  sees  Criseyde  on  a  morning  in  April; 
Criseyde  departs  for  the  Grecian  camp  on  an  August 


122      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

morning  two  years  later.1  But  if  the  story  extends 
over  some  three  years,  the  actions  narrated  are  con- 
fined to  a  few  days,  several  of  which  are  recorded 
in  full  detail,  almost  hour  by  hour.  Three  quarters  of 
the  lines  of  Book  I  are  devoted  to  the  events  of  two 
days  —  the  day  when  Troilus  first  sees  Criseyde  in  the 
temple  and  the  day  when  he  confides  his  secret  to 
Pandarus.  Beginning  with  Book  II,  nearly  5000  lines 
of  the  8239  which  constitute  the  poem  are  devoted  to 
the  events  of  eight  days,  presented  in  sets  of  two,  a  day 
and  its  morrow.  These  four  groups  of  two  center 
respectively  on  Pandar's  first  visit  to  Criseyde  in  his 
friend's  behalf,2  on  the  dinner  party  at  the  house  of 
Deiphebus,  on  the  stormy  night  when  the  lovers  meet 
at  the  house  of  Pandarus,  on  Criseyde's  departure  from 
Troy.  Over  900  lines  are  given  to  the  nine  days  which 
follow  Criseyde's  departure  from  Troy.  The  great 
bulk  of  the  poem  is  thus  devoted  to  a  few  significant 
episodes,  and  the  intervening  intervals  are  dismissed 
with  concise  summary. 

Each  of  these  major  episodes  is  transacted  largely 
by  means  of  dialogue  in  a  series  of  essentially  dramatic 
scenes.  It  will  sufficiently  illustrate  Chaucer's  method 
if  we  analyze  one  of  them,  the  episode  of  Criseyde's 
departure,  which  fills  the  fourth  book  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  fifth.  It  is  divided  into  six  scenes.  The 
first  is  a  brief  scene  at  the  Grecian  camp,  in  which  Cal- 
chas  obtains  the  promise  that  Antenor  shall  be  ex- 
changed for  Criseyde  (4.  64-140).  The  scene  then  shifts 
to  Troy,  where  a  parliament  is  held  to  consider  the  ex- 

1  We  are  told,  5.  8-14,  that  there  have  been  three  spring  seasons 
since  Troilus  began  to  love  Criseyde.  If  one  counts  as  one  of  the  three 
the  spring  in  which  the  story  begins,  the  total  lapse  of  time  is  two  and 
a  half  years;  if  one  counts  exclusively  of  the  first  spring,  another  year 
must  be  added. 

*  Chaucer  dates  this  visit  as  on  'Mayes  day  the  thridde,'  2.  56. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  123 

change,  and  Criseyde's  departure  is  decreed  while  Tro- 
ilus  listens  in  helpless  silence  (4.  141-217).  There  fol- 
lows a  long  scene  in  which  Troilus  in  his  own  chamber, 
first  alone  and  later  with  Pandarus,  bewails  his  evil 
fortune  (218-658).  This  is  balanced  by  a  scene  at 
Criseyde's  house  in  which  the  heroine  laments  the  fatal 
decree.  During  this  scene  she  receives  the  farewell 
visit  of  her  lady  friends,  and  with  breaking  heart  listens 
to  their  idle  chatter,  at  what  Professor  Price  has  called 
'a  Trojan  afternoon  tea'1  —  an  interlude  which  is  a 
most  subtle  blending  of  comedy  and  pathos.  Later  in 
the  scene  she  is  joined  by  Pandarus.  This  scene  extends 
from  line  659  to  945.  It  is  followed  by  the  scene  in  the 
temple,  where  Troilus  has  withdrawn  to  meditate  on 
the  problem  of  God's  providence  and  man's  freedom; 
he  is  interrupted  by  Pandarus  who  brings  the  plan  for 
a  farewell  meeting  at  his  house  (946-1123).  The  book 
closes  with  the  long  scene  (1124-1701)  of  the  lovers' 
last  night  together,  a  scene  which  extends  till  dawn  of 
the  following  day.  The  final  scene  of  the  episode,  Cri- 
seyde's actual  departure  from  the  city,  is  transacted  in 
the  opening  lines  of  Book  V.  More  than  1800  lines  are 
devoted  to  the  events  of  these  two  days.2 

Boccaccio  dedicated  his  Filostrato  to  Fiammetta,  the 
lady  of  his  passionate  heart;  Chaucer  dedicates  his  own 
retelling  of  the  story  to  'moral  Gower'  and  'the  philo- 


1  See  his  illuminating  article,  "Troilus  and  Criseyde,  a  study  in 
Chaucer's  Method  of  Narrative  Construction,'  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  11.  307-322  (1896).  Professor  Price 
finds  that  the  action  of  the  poem  is  arranged  into  fifty  scenes,  skill- 
fully contrasted  in  emotional  tone,  of  which  thirty-two  are  conducted 
by  means  of  dialogue,  nine  are  soliloquy  or  monologue,  two  are  trio 
scenes,  while  seven  introduce  a  larger  group  of  speakers. 

*  The  student  will  find  it  interesting  to  make  a  similar  analysis  of 
the  other  episodes,  particularly  that  of  the  dinner  party  at  the  house 
of  Deiphebus. 


124      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

sophical  Strode.'  Chaucer's  friend,  John  Gower,  had 
not  yet  written  Confessio  Amantis,  his  great 
'  collection  of  moralized  tales;  but  his  early 
works,  the  French  Miroir  de  VOmme  and  the  Latin  Vox 
Clamantis,  are  even  more  pronouncedly  didactic.  They 
constitute  an  ethical  analysis  of  the  individual  and 
of  society  as  a  whole  which  amply  justifies  Chaucer  in 
characterizing  their  author  as  preeminently  a  moralist. 
Chaucer's  other  friend,  Ralph  Strode,  was  a  fellow  of 
Merton  College,  Oxford,  a  scholastic  of  some  distinc- 
tion, and  the  author  of  voluminous  treatises  on  logic 
and  dialectic. 

Chaucer  directs  his  book,  then,  to  a  great  moralist 
and  a  learned  professor  of  philosophy,  begging  them 
'ther  nede  is  to  corecte';  and  he  leaves  us  in  no  doubt 
as  to  the  moral  he  would  have  us  draw  from  it,  or  the 
philosophy  of  life  which  permeates  it.  Boccaccio  is 
content  to  warn  young  lovers  not  to  put  trust  too 
lightly  in  every  fair  lady,  many  of  whom  are,  alas,  like 
Criseida,  'unstable  as  leaf  in  the  wind.'  One  must  be 
cautious,  and  'choose  a  mistress  who  will  be  firm  and 
constant.  Very  different  is  Chaucer's  moral:  — 

O  yonge  fresshe  folkes,  he  or  she, 
In  which  that  love  upgroweth  with  your  age, 
Repeyreth  boom  from  worldly  vanitee, 
And  of  your  herte  upcasteth  the  visage 
To  thilke  god  that  after  his  image 
Yow  made,  and  thinketh  al  nis  but  a  fayre 
This  world,  that  passeth  sone  as  floures  fayre. 

Let  us  flee  the  vanities  of  the  world,  and  set  our  love 
on  Him  who  in  the  fullness  of  His  love  died  for  us  on 
the  cross,  'for  he  nil  falsen  no  wight,  dar  I  seye.'  This 
moral  is  reiterated  in  the  passage  where  the  slain 
Troilus,  as  his  soul  mounts  the  heavens,  looks  back  at 
Uhis  litel  spot  of  erthe'  and  — 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  125 

fully  gan  despyse 

This  wrecched  world,  and  held  al  vanitee 
To  respect  of  the  pleyn  felicitee 
That  is  in  hevene  above. 

The  noble  stanzas  which  follow  heavenward  the  soul  of 
Troilus  have  no  counterpart  in  Filostrato,"  Chaucer  has 
appropriated  them  from  another  poem  of  Boccaccio,  the 
Teseide,  his  principal  source  for  the  Knight's  Tale.  Nor 
were  the  stanzas  present  in  the  first  edition  of  Troilus; 
they  constitute  a  deliberate  addition  made  at  the  time 
when  Chaucer  revised  his  finished  work. 

It  is  plain  that  Chaucer  has  done  his  utmost  to  make 
the  poem  end,  unlike  the  consistently  worldly  Filostrato, 
with  full  emphasis  on  its  moral  and  philosophical  signifi- 
cance. The  contrast  with  Boccaccio,  which  is  so  marked 
in  the  conclusion  of  the  poem,  is  also  present,  though 
less  strikingly,  throughout  Troilus  and  Criseyde.  The 
whole  story  is  interpreted  at  every  stage  in  accordance 
with  the  philosophy  of  Boethius,  a  philosophy  which 
Chaucer  seems  to  have  adopted  as  his  own  —  a  pro- 
found sense  of  the  transitoriness  of  all  earthly  happiness, 
of  the  capriciousness  of  Fortune,  that  incalculable 
power  to  whom  is  entrusted  the  working  out  of  divinely 
ordained  destiny. 

Chaucer  calls  his  poem  a  tragedy;  and  tragedy  ac- 
cording to  the  mediaeval  conception  is,  as  the  Monk  of 
the  Canterbury  Tales  makes  clear,  the  story  of  a  man 
cast  down  by  Fortune  from  great  prosperity  and  high 
estate  into  misery  and  wretchedness.  But  in  the  Bo- 
ethian  philosophy  Fortune  is  but  executrix  of  destiny. 
Professor  Kittredge  has  pointed  out  how  strongly  Chau- 
cer has  emphasized  the  idea  that  his  characters  are  in- 
volved in  the  mesh  of  inexorable  fate.  It  is  'through 
his  destiny '  that  Troilus  first  falls  in  love  with  Criseyde. 
It  is  destiny  again  which  sends  him  riding  'an  esy  pas' 


126      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

below  Criseyde's  window  at  the  very  moment  when 
Pandarus  has  disposed  the  lady's  thoughts  to  answer 
love  by  love:  — 

For  which,  men  say,  may  nought  disturbed  be 
That  shal  bityden  of  necessitee. 

And  Troilus  and  Criseyde  are  Trojans,  citizens  of  a 
doomed  city,  marked  by  the  gods  for  destruction.  Cal- 
chas  has  already  fled  from  the  doom  to  come;  and  it  is 
to  save  his  daughter  from  a  share  in  it  that  he  secures 
her  extradition  from  the  city,  and  so  precipitates  the 
tragedy.  Troilus,  when  the  Trojan  parliament  issues  its 
decree,  sees  the  hand  of  destiny  at  work:  — 

For  al  that  comth,  comth  by  necessitee; 
Thus  to  be  lorn,  it  is  my  destinee. 

And  so  he  debates,  through  a  long  passage  which  Chau- 
cer added  in  his  recension  of  the  poem,  the  question  of 
man's  freedom  and  God's  foreknowledge,  inclining  in 
his  argument  towards  the  side  of  predestination. 

If  stern  necessity  rules  supreme,  if  men  are  but  the 
playthings  of  Fortune,  then  earthly  happiness  is  but 
delusion. 

*O  god!'  quod  she,  'so  worldly  selinesse, 

Which  clerkes  callen  fals  felicitee, 

Ymedled  is  with  many  a  bitternesse! 

Ful  anguisshous  than  is,  god  woot,'  quod  she, 

•  Condicioun  of  veyn  prosperitee. 

For  either  joyes  comen  nought  yfere, 

Or  elles  no  wight  hath  hem  alwey  here. 

Wherfore  I  wol  deffyne  in  this  matere, 

That  trewely,  for  ought  I  can  espye, 

Ther  is  no  verray  wele  in  this  world  here.'  * 

It  is  Criseyde  who  in  these  lines,  closely  modeled  on 
N;  »  3.  813-836. 


TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE  127 

Boethius,1  sets  forth  the  doctrine  of  false  felicity;  Cri- 
seyde,  who  by  her  subsequent  falseness  points  this  same 
moral  at  the  end  of  the  poem,  the  moral  that  the  world 
is  but  Vanity  Fair  and  its  pleasures  merely  transitory, 
that  true  felicity  is  to  be  found  only  'in  hevene  above.' 

Not  only  in  its  concluding  stanzas,  but  throughout 
its  course,  Chaucer  has  moralized  his  song  of  courtly 
love  in  terms  of  the  stoic  philosophy  of  Boethius,  and 
justified  his  dedication  of  the  poem  to  'moral  Gower' 
and  'the  philosophical  Strode.'  He  has  given  to  his 
story  of  what  is,  after  all,  an  illicit  love  a  high  level  of 
moral  elevation,  a  level  which  is  essentially  maintained 
throughout  the  poem.  This  element  of  its  art  contrib- 
utes in  no  small  measure  to  our  feeling  that  Troilus  and 
Criseyde  is  a  very  great  poem.2 

1  Book  II,  Prose  iv.  For  a  full  discussion  of  the  Boethian  element 
in  Troilus,  see  B.  L.  Jefferson,  Chaucer  and  the  Consolation  of  Philos- 
ophy of  Boethius,  pp.  120-130. 

•  See  Professor  Tatlock's  article,  '  The  Epilog  of  Chaucer's  Troilus,' 
Modern  Philology,  18.  625-659  (1921). 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  HOUSE  OF  FAME 

THERE  is  no  evidence  which  enables  us  to  assign  a  pre- 
cise date  to  the  House  of  Fame.  Since  it  is  named  among 
the  poet's  works  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Leg-  Date  and 
end  of  Good  Women,  it  must  have  been  writ-  Sources. 
ten  before  1386.  The  use  made  in  it  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  indicates  a  date  later  than  Chaucer's  Ital- 
ian journey  of  1373.  Within  this  range  of  a  dozen 
years,  the  date  may,  though  less  certainly,  be  further 
limited  to  the  period  from  June,  1374,  to  February, 
1385,  the  period  of  Chaucer's  active  administration  of 
his  comptrollership  of  customs.  It  would  seem  to  be  to 
these  exacting  duties  at  the  customs  house  that  the 
eagle  refers  in  the  lines:  — 

For  whan  thy  labour  doon  al  is, 
And  hast  ymaad  thy  rekeninges, 
In  stede  of  reste  and  newe  thinges, 
Thou  gost  hoom  to  thy  hous  anoon; 
And,  also  domb  as  any  stoon, 
Thou  sittest  at  another  boke, 
Til  fully  daswed  is  thy  loke. 

In  default  of  a  more  exact  date,  one  would  be  glad  to 
know  whether  the  poem  was  written  earlier  or  later 
than  Chaucer's  masterpiece  of  the  so-called  Italian 
period,  the  Book  of  Troilus.  Even  here,  no  certain  con- 
clusion is  possible;  and  the  evidence,  such  as  it  is,  is  too 
complicated  to  summarize  in  such  a  book  as  this.  But 
the  weight  of  scholarly  opinion  now  inclines  towards 
the  belief  that  the  House  of  Fame  was  written  before 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FAME  129 

Troilus.1  If  so,  it  cannot  have  been  written  later  than 
1380. 

Such  leisure  as  was  left  to  the  poet  from  his  reckon- 
ings at  the  customs  house  must  have  been  diligently 
spent  in  poring  over  old  books;  for  the  House  of  Fame 
displays  a  very  considerable  and  varied  reading.  It  is  a 
much  more  'learned'  poem  than  is  the  Book  of  the  Duch- 
ess, written  in  1369.  It  shows,  first  of  all,  a  thorough 
acquaintance  with  Dante,  from  whom  apparently  came 
the  suggestion  of  Chaucer's  flight  heavenwards  in  the 
talons  of  an  eagle,  as  well  as  echoes  from  all  three  sec- 
tions of  the  Divine  Comedy.  Even  greater  is  the  influence 
of  Virgil.  The  main  events  of  the  Mneid,  are  digested  in 
the  description  of  the  carvings  on  the  temple  of  Venus 
in  Book  I;  and  the  description  of  Lady  Fame  in  Book 
III  is  indebted  to  JEneid,  4. 173-183.  To  Ovid,  Metamor- 
phoses, 12.  39-63,  is  due  the  general  conception  of  a 
House  of  Fame.  The  Somnium  Scipionis  of  Cicero, 
with  the  commentary  of  Macrobius,  supplied  the  intro- 
ductory discussion  of  the  nature  of  dreams.  Other  works 
the  influence  of  which  may  be  traced  are  the  Anticlaudi- 
anus  of  Alanus  de  Insulis,  and  the  De  Nuptiis  Philolo- 
gies et  Mercurii  of  Martianus  Capella.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence that  Chaucer  knew  the  Trionfo  della  Fama  of 
Petrarch. 

No  single  source  for  the  poem  as  a  whole  has  been 
discovered,  nor  is  it  likely  that  any  will  be  found.  But 
in  general  form  and  structure  it  belongs  clearly  in  the 
category  of  the  dream-vision  literature  of  mediaeval 
France,  and  has  much  in  common  with  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose,  the  Paradys  d' Amours  of  Froissart,  and  Chaucer's 
own  Book  of  the  Duchess;  though  its  marked  differences 
from  any  known  poems  of  the  type  are  very  striking. 
There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Chaucer  alone  is  re- 

1  See  G.  L.  Kittredge,  Date  of  Chaucer's  Troilus,  pp.  53-60. 


130      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

sponsible  for  the  central  conception  of  his  plot  and  for 
its  development,  even  though  he  has  cast  it  in  the 
mould  of  the  vision-poems  of  love-allegory,  and  has 
enriched  it  from  his  varied  reading.1 

Despite  its  debt  in  form  and  substance  to  'olde  bokes,' 
the  poem  impresses  one  first  of  all  by  its  spontaneity, 
its  ease  of  movement,  its  boundless  energy 
ory'  of  invention.  It  excels  in  that  quality  which 
eighteenth-century  critics  designated  as  '  wit,'  which  we 
to-day  are  more  likely  to  call  ingenious  fancy.   It  mod- 
estly disclaims  any  pretense  to  poetic  art:  — 

Nat  that  I  wilne,  for  maistrye, 
Here  art  poetical  be  shewed; 
But,  for  the  rym  is  light  and  lewed, 
Yit  make  hit  sumwhat  agreable, 
Though  som  vers  faile  in  a  sillable. 

It  will  merely  recount  to  us  a  most  marvelous  dream 
which  the  poet  dreamed  on  the  tenth  day  of  last  Decem- 
ber. And  so,  half  playfully,  half  seriously,  Chaucer 
discusses  in  his  first  fifty  lines  the  nature  of  dreams. 
Are  they  warnings  of  things  to  come,  or  the  mere  result 
of  bodily  disorders?  It  is  a  question  which  Chaucer  was 
fond  of  raising.  With  what  amused  interest  he  would 
have  investigated  'present-day  methods  of  'psychoan- 
alysis' through  interpretation  of  dreams!  But  though 
Chaucer  raises  the  question,  he  leaves  its  determination 
to  'grete  clerkes.'  If  dreams  are  really  warnings,  they 
warn  'to  derkly'  to  be  of  much  use.  So  he  merely  re- 
counts his  dream  without  attempting  an  interpretation 
of  it. 

Unmindful  of  Chaucer's  caution,  scholars  have  tried 
to  read  into  his  dream  an  elaborate  allegorical  meaning, 

1  See  W.  O.  Sypherd,  Studies  in  Chaucer's  House  of  Fame,  Chaucer 
Society,  1907. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FAME  131 

a  revelation  of  his  own  intellectual  experiences  and 
aspirations;  but  the  trend  of  critical  opinion  to-day  is 
to  discredit  these  interpretations  as  over-ingenious,  and 
to  accept  the  poem  at  its  face  value  as  merely  a  wonder- 
ful dream.  At  most,  one  may  take  as  revealing  Chau- 
cer's own  more  serious  conviction  his  account  of  Lady 
Fame  and  her  abode. 

The  word  'fame'  is  used  in  the  poem  with  double 
meaning.  One  meaning  is  rumor,  general  report,  the 
mysterious  dissemination  of  tidings.  Upon  the  basis  of 
this  general  report,  some  strange  power  distributes  to 
men  their  meed  of  glory  or  reputation;  and  this  is  the 
second  meaning  of  the  word  'fame.'  It  is  with  the  first 
of  these  meanings  in  view  that  the  magisterial  eagle 
gives  his  scientific  explanation  of  how  all  reports  tend 
by  their  own  nature  to  fly  upwards  to  a  single  center 
set  in  the  midst  of  heaven  and  earth  and  sea.  But  in  the 
third  book  we  see  first  the  dwelling-place  of  the  goddess 
of  reputation  or  glory.  The  poetic  imagery  is  easy  of 
interpretation.  The  mount  of  ice  is  slippery  of  ascent, 
and  in  its  nature  so  little  permanent  that  the  names 
upon  it  melt  easily  away.  Only  on  the  northern  side, 
the  direction  of  hardship  and  adversity,  were  there  any 
names  of  endurance.  The  lady  Fame  herself  is  a  won- 
drous 'feminyne  creature,'  semper  mutabile,  who,  like 
Virgil's  Fama,  is  of  such  varying  stature  that  one  mo- 
ment she  seems  less  than  a  cubit  in  height,  and  the  next 
she  touches  the  heavens.  Mutable  in  her  outward  form, 
the  lady  is  equally  capricious  in  the  bestowal  of  her 
favor.  Perhaps  the  most  brilliant  touch  of  poetical 
fancy  in  the  poem  is  the  scene  where  the  various  com- 
panies of  men,  the  deserving  and  the  desertless,  come  to 
ask  their  boons  of  glory  or  oblivion,  and  are  answered 
with  no  rule  or  reason,  but  merely  as  the  whim  of  the 
moment  may  dictate. 


132      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

The  significance  of  all  this  is  plain  enough.  Uncertain 
and  evanescent  in  itself,  fame  or  reputation  is  bestowed 
in  so  unreasonable  a  way  that  a  man  of  reason  and  self- 
respect  cannot  but  despise  it.  As  Chaucer  stood  marvel- 
ing at  all  this  gear,  some  one  addressed  him:  — 

And  seyde:  'Frend,  what  is  thy  name? 
Artow  come  hider  to  han  fame? ' 
'Nay,  forsothe,  frend!'  quod  I; 
'  I  cam  noght  hider,  graunt  mercy! 
For  no  swich  cause,  by  my  heed! 
Suffyceth  me,  as  I  were  deed, 
That  no  wight  have  my  name  in  honde. 
I  woot  myself  best  how  I  stonde; 
For  what  I  drye  or  what  I  thinke, 
I  wol  myselven  al  hit  drinke.' 

Chaucer  deliberately  repudiates  all  desire  for  glory; 
but  for  fame  in  the  sense  of  tidings  he  has  the  keenest 
relish;  and  this  desire  is  satisfied  in  the  house  of  Rumor, 
the  domus  Dedali,  to  which  he  is  now  conducted.  Here 
are  tidings  in  abundance,  false  and  true,  of  all  sorts  of 
happenings  under  heaven.  Here  are  shipmen  and  pil- 
grims, pardoners  and  messengers,  — 

With  scrippes  bret-ful  of  lesinges, 
Entremedled  with  tydinges. 

The  poem  breaks  off  abruptly  —  either  because 
Chaucer  never  finished  it,  or  because  a  final  leaf  got 
lost  from  the  original  manuscript  —  leaving  the  poet 
in  the  house  of  Rumor;  and  there  we  find  him  again  some 
ten  years  later,  as  he  rides  with  a  company  of  shipmen 
and  pilgrims  and  pardoners,  an  unassuming  but  keenly 
interested  spectator  and  auditor,  on  the  road  to  Canter- 
bury. 

The  first  phase  of  this  wondrous  dream  transacts 
itself  in  a  marvelous  temple  of  glass,  on  the  walls  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FAME  133 

which  are  pictured  in  true  mediaeval  fashion  all  the 
story  of  /Eneas.  The  poet  recognizes  that  it  is  the 
temple  of  Venus  — 

for,  in  portreyture, 
I  saw  anoon  right  hir  figure 
Naked  fletinge  in  a  see. 

It  is  because  of  the  poet's  devotion  to  love  that  Jupiter 
sends  down  his  great  eagle  to  bear  him  aloft  to  the  land 
of  Fame,  where  he  can  hear  tidings  of  lovers  and  their 
ways. 

The  second  book  is  concerned  with  Chaucer's  skyward 
journey.  The  eagle  who  bears  him  none  too  securely  in 
his  talons  is  no  mere  piece  of  narrative  machinery,  but 
quite  the  most  delightful  personage  of  the  poem.  He 
is  a  very  learned  eagle,  and  not  in  the  least  niggardly 
about  imparting  his  learning.  With  his  helpless  audi- 
ence of  one  gripped  in  his  two  claws,  he  lectures  most 
academically  on  the  theory  of  sound,  and  then  inquires 
with  fine  condescension :  — 

Have  I  not  preved  thus  simply, 
Withouten  any  subtiltee 
Of  speche,  or  gret  prolixitee 
Of  termes  of  philosophye? 

To  this  question  Chaucer,  taking  the  part  of  wisdom, 
discreetly  answers  'Yis.' 

'A  ha!'  quod  he,  'lo,  so  I  can 
Lewedly  to  a  lewed  man 
Speke,  and  shewe  him  swiche  skiles, 
That  he  may  shake  hem  by  the  biles. 
So  palpable  they  shulden  be.' 

Though  the  eagle  speak  with  the  tongue  of  men  and 
schoolmasters,  the  poet  does  not  forget  that  he  is  a  bird, 
and  reminds  his  readers  of  the  fact  by  the  delicious  con- 
ceit —  'shake  hem  by  the  biles.' 


134      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Having  lectured  to  his  own  great  satisfaction  on  the 
wave-theory  of  sound,  he  is  ready,  nay  eager,  to  dis- 
course on  the  stars;  but  his  audience  rebels:  — 

'Wilt  them  lere  of  sterres  aught?' 
'Nay,  certeinly,'  quod  I,  'right  naught; 

And  why?  for  I  am  now  to  old.' 
'  Kilos  I  wolde  thee  have  told,' 

Quod  he,  '.the  sterres  names,  lo. 

And  al  the  hevenes  signes  to, 

And  which  they  been.' 

Every  reader  of  poetry,  he  insists,  should  have  at  least 
an  elementary  course  in  astronomy,  and  what  time  so 
favorable  as  this  when  we  are  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
constellations?  It  is  only  when  his  hearer  urges  that  his 
eyes  will  not  bear  to  look  upon  the  stars  in  their  blazing 
proximity,  that  the  eagle  reluctantly  bridles  his  peda- 
gogic zeal. 

It  would  be  idle  to  point  out  all  the  humorous  touches 
of  this  aerial  colloquy.  If  the  reader  cannot  see  them 
for  himself,  as  Matthew  Arnold  would  have  said,  mori- 
etur  in  peccatis  suis.  Not  even  in  the  Nun's  Priest's  Tale 
is  Chaucer's  humor  more  irresistible. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN 

THE  Legend  of  Good  Women  marks  the  beginning  of 
what  is  ordinarily  called  Chaucer's  third  period,  the 
period  which  reaches  full  flower  in  the  Canterbury 
Tales.  Itself  a  collection  of  tales  bound  together  by 
community  of  theme  and  by  a  common  prologue,  it 
may  in  deed  be  thought  of  as  a  direct  precursor  of  the 
greater  collection  which  follows.  Chaucer  has  ceased  to 
feel  the  overmastering  influence  of  Italian  models;  and 
though  the  intellectual  stimulus  received  from  Italy 
was  not  to  spend  itself  until  his  death,  he  is  feeling 
about  for  a  form  of  literary  expression  which  shall 
be  essentially  his  own.  That  the  Legend  was  in  some 
sort  an  experimental  venture  is  suggested  by  the  fact 
that  it  was  left  unfinished,  crowded  from  its  place  in 
his  attention  by  the  vastly  superior  conception  of  the 
Canterbury  Tales.  But  experiment  though  it  be,  it 
is  far  from  being  a  failure.  The  nine  legends  which 
Chaucer  wrote  are  good  pieces  of  narrative,  told  with 
the  poet's  peculiar  grace  and  charm ;  while  the  Prologue 
is,  in  its  beauty  of  imagery,  its  buoyant  freshness  of 
an  English  Maytide,  in  its  general  conception  and 
execution,  one  of  Chaucer's  most  successful  and  most 
beautiful  productions. 

The  Legend  consists  of  a  series  of  tales,  drawn  from 
the    storehouse  of  classical  antiquity,  recounting  the 
fortunes  of  noble  women,  true  in  love,  intro- 
duced by  a  prologue   poem   of   the   dream- 
vision  type  so  popular  in  the  allegorical  literature  of 


136      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  case  of  such  a  work,  one 
need  not  look  for  any  single  source ;  one  will  ask  rather 
what  models  Chaucer  may  have  had  before  him,  or 
what  earlier  works  may  have  suggested  the  scheme  of 
his  poem.  Two  such  works  immediately  suggest  them- 
selves :  the  Heroides  of  Ovid,  a  series  of  imaginary 
letters  sent  by  heroines  of  mythology  to  their  faithless 
lovers,  and,  nearer  to  Chaucer's  own  time,  the  De 
Claris  Mulieribus  l  of  Boccaccio,  a  collection  of  sto- 
ries in  Latin  prose,  wherein  are  epitomized  the  fortunes 
of  famous  women.  The  first  of  these  works  Chaucer 
certainly  knew ;  and  there  is  every  probability  that  he 
was  acquainted  with  the  other. 

In  compiling  materials  for  the  individual  legends, 
Chaucer  seems  to  have  done  what  any  modern  author 
would  do  under  similar  circumstances :  he  read  all  the 
accounts  of  his  heroines  which  were  readily  accessible 
to  him,  and  selected,  adapted,  and  combined,  as  his 
literary  taste  impelled  him.  In  the  case  of  the  first 
legend,  that  of  Cleopatra,  it  is  not  very  clear  just  what 
versions  of  the  story  Chaucer  used.  Perhaps  a  Latin 
translation  of  Plutarch's  life  of  Antony  was  accessi- 
ble to  him ;  perhaps,  too,  he  consulted  the  Historia 
adversum  Paganos  of  Orosius  (fifth  century  A.  D.) 
and  the  De  Claris  Mulieribus  of  Boccaccio.  Pretty 
certainly  he  was  acquainted  with  the  Epitome  Rerum 
Itomanarum  of  Florus,  a  Roman  historian  of  the  reign 
of  Hadrian.  The  legend  of  Thisbe  was  drawn  entirely 
from  Ovid's  account  of  the  lady  in  Metamorphoses,  4. 
55-166,  though  the  source  was  used  by  Chaucer  with 
characteristic  freedom.  The  story  of  Dido  is  taken, 
of  course,  from  Virgil,  though  a  few  lines  (1355-1365) 

1  Similar  in  character,  though  wider  in  its  scope,  is  the  De  Casibus 
Virorum  et  Feminarum  Illustrium  of  the  same  author,  used  by  Chaucer 
as  the  model  for  his  Monk's  Tale. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN        137 

are  from  Ovid's  H&roidea,  7.  1-8.  For  the  stories  of 
Hypsipyle  and  Medea  Chaucer  went,  naturally  enough, 
to  Ovid ; 1  but  he  seems  to  have  made  even  greater  use 
of  the  account  given  in  the  Historia  Trojana  of  Guido 
delle  Colon ne.2  For  the  story  of  Lucretia  Chaucer 
himself  refers  us  to  Livy  and  to  Ovid,3  the  latter  of 
whom  is  his  principal  source.  The  remaining  legends 
are  based  chiefly  on  Ovid,  whose  influence  is  the  domi- 
nant one  in  the  whole  collection.  Other  works  which 
Chaucer  may  well  have  consulted  are  the  fables  of 
Hyginus,  the  two  works  of  Boccaccio  mentioned  above, 
and  the  compendium  of  classical  mythology  by  the 
same  author  entitled  De  Genealogia  Deorum.4  Most 
of  the  stories  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  are  also 
told  by  Gower  in  the  Confessio  Amantis  ;  so  that  one 
may,  if  he  pleases,  see  how  a  less  gifted  contemporary 
uses  the  same  material.5 

For  the  Prologue  the  problem  of  sources  is  much  less 
clear.  It  seems  to  have  been  composed  under  the  gen- 
eral influence  of  a  school,  rather  than  of  any  particular 
models.  This  school  is  that  of  the  French  love-alle- 
gory, with  its  familiar  devices  of  a  dream-vision  and 
a  court  of  love,  and  its  unfailing  accompaniments  of 
May-morning,  singing  birds,  and  springing  flowers,  of 
which  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  is  the  great  exemplar.6 
From  among  the  vast  throng  of  French  love-allegories 
of  this  type,  it  is  possible  to  segregate  a  small  group 

1  Metamorphoses,  7.  1-296 ;  Heroides,  6  and  12. 

2  Cf.  above,  p.  98. 
8  Fasti,  3.  461-516. 

*  Chaucer's  indebtedness  to  the  De  Genealogia  has  been  convincinglj 
proved  by  C.  G.  Child  in  Modern  Language  Notes,  11.  238-245. 

5  For  a  discussion  of  the  sources  of  the  Legend  and  of  the  relation 
of  Chaucer's  work  to  Gower' s,  see  the  excellent  article  by  M.  Bech  in 
Anglia,  5.  313-382. 

6  For  a  very  thorough  account  of  this  poetry,  see  Professor  W.  A. 
Neilson's  The  Origins  and  Sources  of  the  Court  of  Love,  Boston,  1899. 


138     THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

which  exerted  a  more  particular  influence  on  the  Pro- 
logue. 

Some  twenty  years  before  the  probable  date  of 
Chaucer's  Legend,  the  French  poet  Guillaume  de 
Machault  wrote  a  Dit  de  la  Marguerite,  wherein  a  lady 
named  Marguerite,  very  likely  a  mistress  of  Machault's 
patron  Pierre  de  Lusignan,  king  of  Cyprus,  is  praised 
under  the  figure  of  the  flower  whose  name  she  bears. 
The  cult  of  the  daisy  was  immediately  taken  up  by 
Machault's  literary  disciples,  Froissart  and  Deschamps. 
Froissart  in  his  Dittie  de  la  Flour  de  la  Marguerite  and 
his  Paradys  d" Amours  uses  the  same  symbolism,  with 
extravagant  praise  of  the  daisy,  in  honor  of  another 
Marguerite;  and  Deschamps  carries  the  same  device 
even  farther  in  his  Lay  de  Franchise,  and  in  several  of 
his  balades.  As  the  fashion  gained  vogue,  this  symbol- 
ism of  the  daisy  was  applied  even  to  ladies  whose  name 
did  not  happen  to  be  Marguerite.  So  that  one  need  not 
be  surprised  to  find  in  the  Prologue  to  Chaucer's 
Legend  that  the  daisy  is  used  to  symbolize  Alcestis, 
and,  through  her,  Chaucer's  patroness,  Queen  Anne.1 

With  the  work  of  all  three  of  these  poets  Chaucer, 
we  know,  was  familiar ;  with  Deschamps  he  had  per- 
sonal relations  of  peculiar  interest ;  for  a  balade  of 
Deschamps  is  addressed  to  the  *  grant  translateur,  noble 
Geffroy  Chaucier.' 2  From  the  balade  itself  we  learn  that 
it  was  to  be  sent  to  Chaucer,  together  with  other  of 
Deschamps's  poems,  by  the  hands  of  Sir  Lewis  Clifford.' 
It  is  entirely  possible  that  the  Lay  de  Franchise,  with 

1  For  a  discussion  of  the  marguerite  poems  and  their  influence  on 
Chaucer,  see  the  article  by  J.  L.  Lowes  on  the  Legend  of  Good  Wo- 
men, in  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  19.  593-683 
(1904). 

3  The  balade  is  reprinted  entire  in  the  Oxford  Chaucer,  1.  Ivi,  Ivii. 

8  For  an  account  of  Clifford,  see  the  article  by  Professor  Kittredge 
on  'Chaucer  and  some  of  his  Friends,'  in  Modern  Philology,  1.  1-18. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN         139 

its  praise  of  the  marguerite,  was  one  of  the  poems  thus 
transmitted  from  the  poet  over-seas.  However  it 
reached  him,  we  can  be  all  but  sure  that  the  Lay  de 
Franchise,  and  Froissart's  Paradys  d1 Amours,  and 
perhaps  other  of  the  marguerite  poems,  were  in  Chau- 
cer's mind  when  he  composed  his  Prologue.1  It  is  to 
this  group  of  marguerite  poets,  then,  and  to  the  still 
larger  group  of  their  countrymen  who  had  written 
courtly  allegories  of  love,  that  Chaucer  is  speaking  in 
the  familiar  lines  near  the  beginning  of  his  poem :  — 

Ye  lovers,  that  can  make  of  sentement; 

In  this  cas  ogbte  ye  be  diligent 

To  forthren  me  somwhat  in  my  labour, 

Whether  ye  ben  with  the  leef  or  with  the  flour. 

For  wel  I  wot,  that  ye  ban  herbiforn 

Of  making  ropen,  and  lad  awey  the  corn  ; 

And  I  come  after,  glening  here  and  there, 

And  am  f  ul  glad  if  I  may  finde  an  ere 

Of  any  goodly  word  that  ye  ban  left. 

One  need  only  say  that  Chaucer's  gleaning  was  indeed 
rich. 

In  the  Patent  Rolls  for  the  eighth  year  of  the  reign 
of  .Richard  II,  under  date  of  February  17  [1385],  there 
is  a  writ  by  which  the  king  grants  '  by  special  Date  and 
grace  to  our  beloved  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  comp-  circum- 

11  £  J         u  -J-  xif     stances 

troiler  or  our  customs  and  subsidies  in  the  ofcompo- 
port  of  our  city  of  London,'  the  privilege  of  81tion> 
appointing  a  permanent  deputy  to  conduct  the  business 
which  he  had  before  been  commanded  to  transact  with 
his  own  hand.    With  what  delicious  sense  of  untram- 
meled  freedom  must  Chaucer  have  closed  his  books  of 
reckonings,  and  taken  farewell  of  his  not  too  congenial 
associates  at  the  custom-house  on  Thames-bank.   No 

1  Despite  the  contention  of  Dr.  Lowes  in  the  article  cited  above, 
these  poems  seem  to  me  to  have  served  as  suggestions,  rather  than  as 
definite  sources. 


140      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

longer  need  he  crowd  his  study  and  his  writing  into  the 
evening  hours,  after  a  day's  work  was  already  done. 

Chaucer  was  at  this  time  a  man  of  forty-five  or 
thereabouts,  and  already  the  most  famous  poet  in  Eng- 
land. He  was  the  *  grant  translateur '  of  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose;  he  had  celebrated  the  marriage  of  Richard  and 
Queen  Anne  in  the  Parliament  of  Fowls;  he  had  shown 
the  free  play  of  his  wit  and  fancy  in  the  House  of  Fame; 
above  all  he  had  published  but  a  few  years  ago  his  great 
narrative  poem,  Troilus.  We  can  imagine  that  Troilus 
had  created  no  small  sensation  in  courtly  circles.  Never 
before  had  Chaucer's  readers  seen  in  English,  nor  in 
French,  a  story  of  courtly  love  told  with  such  vivid  and 
convincing  realism;  and  in  this  vivid  story  the  heroine, 
Criseyde,  becomes  in  the  end  a  type  of  all  that  a  lady 
should  not  be.  It  is  likely  enough  that  many  a  noble 
lady  of  the  court  reproached  the  poet,  betwixt  play  and 
earnest,  for  drawing  so  unflattering  a  portrait  of  woman- 
kind. 

In  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend,  King  Cupid  bitterly 
upbraids  the  poet  for  having  translated  the  Romance  of 
the  Rose,  'that  is  an  heresye  ageyns  my  lawe,'  and  for 
having  written  disparagingly  of  Criseyde  —  'that  mak- 
eth  men  to  wommen  lasse  triste.'  Queen  Alcestis,  su- 
preme type  of  womanly  fidelity  in  love,  pleads  Chaucer's 
cause.  Perhaps,  since  Chaucer  is  but  a  foolish  poet  at 
best,  he  has  sinned  by  sheer  inadvertence,  'gessing  no 
malyce.'  At  any  rate,  he  has  written  many  other  poems 
in  praising  of  Love's  name.  She  promises  that  he  will 
never  err  again;  and  proposes  that  as  penance  he  shall 
now  write  '  of  wommen  trewe  in  lovinge  al  hir  ly ve.' 

These  proceedings  at  the  court  of  King  Cupid  are, 
of  course,  a  literary  device  for  introducing  the  series  of 
legends  which  is  to  follow;  and  Chaucer  has  warned  us 
that  the  whole  scene  is  but  a  dream.  One  must  be  on 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN          141 

one's  guard  against  reading  into  scenes  of  poetic  fiction 
a  record  of  supposedly  actual  happenings;  yet  in  this 
instance  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  events  of  the 
dream- vision  reflect  something  of  reality,  that  the  task 
of  writing  a  legend  of  good  women  was  imposed  on 
Chaucer  by  Queen  Anne,  as  in  the  poem  it  is  enjoined 
on  him  by  Queen  Alcestis. 

That  the  poem  was,  at  any  rate,  to  be  dedicated  to 
Queen  Anne  is  made  clear  in  Alceste's  command:  — 

And  whan  this  book  is  maad,  yive  hit  the  quene 
On  my  behalfe,  at  Eltham,  or  at  Shene. 

Chaucer's  disciple,  Lydgate,  writing  a  generation  later, 
asserts  in  the  Prologue  to  his  Falls  of  Princes  that  the 
Legend  was  made  'at  the  request  of  the  quene.'  Perhaps 
Lydgate  is  reporting  authentic  tradition;  perhaps  his 
statement  rests  only  on  his  own  interpretation  of  Chau- 
cer's Prologue.  Even  on  this  latter  hypothesis  the  evi- 
dence is  significant.  The  modern  critic  would  be  less 
diffident  of  seeing  in  the  poem  a  meaning  found  also 
by  a  nearly  contemporary  poet  thoroughly  conversant 
with  the  conventions  of  mediaeval  poetry. 

It  seems  probable,  also,  that  Chaucer's  reverence  for 
Queen  Alcestis,  and  his  passionate  devotion  to  the  daisy 
which  is  associated  with  her,  were  intended  as  a  compli- 
ment to  Queen  Anne.  In  the  lines  which  sing  the  praises 
of  the  daisy,  Chaucer  has  echoed  the  language  of  the 
French  poets  who,  under  the  type  of  the  marguerite, 
have  complimented  living  ladies.  But  Chaucer  surpasses 
his  French  originals  in  the  fervor  of  his  devotion.  He 
says  of  the  daisy:  — 

She  is  the  clernesse  and  the  verrey  light 
That  in  this  derke  worlde  me  wynt  and  ledeth; 
The  herte  inwith  my  sorowful  brest  yow  dredeth, 
And  loveth  so  sore,  that  ye  ben  verrayly 
The  maistresse  of  my  wit,  and  nothing  I ... 


142      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Be  ye  my  gyde  and  lady  sovereyne; 
As  to  myn  erthly  god,  to  yow  I  calle, 
Bothe  in  this  werke  and  in  my  sorwes  alle. 

These  lines,  as  Professor  Lowes  has  pointed  out,  are 
closely  modeled  on  a  passage  of  fervent  devotion  in  the 
Proem  to  Filostrato,  where  Boccaccio  is  addressing  not 
a  flower,  but  his  lady  Fiammetta. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  this  extravagant 
devotion  of  Chaucer  is  bestowed  on  a  mere  flower  of 
the  field.  It  seems  hardly  less  unreasonable  to  suppose 
that  it  is  lavished  upon  the  mythical  person  of  Queen 
Alcestis.  What 's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba,  that 
he  should  weep  for  her? 

To  the  present  writer  the  conclusion  seems  inevitable 
that  under  the  twofold  type  of  the  daisy  and  of  Alcestis 
the  poet  is  praising  some  living  lady.  If  so,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  the  lady  is  none  other  than  Queen  Anne, 
to  whom,  as  we  know  from  Chaucer's  own  words,  the 
book  was  to  be  formally  presented  'at  Eltham  or  at 
Shene.'  From  this  conclusion  it  need  not  follow  that 
Alcestis  is  at  all  points  to  be  equated  with  Anne,  nor 
that  had  Chaucer  carried  out  his  intention  to  devote 
one  of  the  legends  to  the  story  of  Alcestis: — 

She  that  for  hir  husbonde  chees  to  dye, 
And  eek  to  goon  to  helle,  rather  than  he  — 

he  would  have  made  her  life  in  any  way  an  allegory  of 
the  life  of  the  queen.  Alcestis  is  not  an  invariable  sym- 
bol for  Queen  Anne,  but  rather  a  type  of  noble  woman- 
hood and  wifely  devotion  which,  Chaucer  suggests,  is 
again  embodied  in  his  youthful  queen.1  The  daisy,  then, 

1  The  view  that  Alcestis  typifies  Queen  Anne  is  supported  by  Tat- 
lock,  Development  and  Chronology  of  Chaucer's  Works,  pp.  102-120, 
and  by  B.  L.  Jefferson  in  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology, 
13.  434-443.  It  is  opposed  by  Lowes  in  the  article  already  cited,  and 
by  Kittredge  in  Modern  Philology,  6.  435-439.  A  middle  position 
is  taken  by  Samuel  Moore  in  Modern  Language  Review,  7.  488-493. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN          143 

plays  a  double  role.  It  is  immediately  the  type  of  Queen 
Alcestis  who  is  to  appear  in  person  later  in  the  poem; 
but  more  subtly  it  also  shadows  forth  the  poet's  royal 
patroness. 

The  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  has  come 
down  to  us  in  two  versions  which  present  very  consider- 
able variations  from  one  another.  Hitherto  The  Two 
this  discussion  has  confined  itself  to  the  Verflons 
longer  version,  which  modern  editors  have  Prologue, 
designated  by  the  letter  'B'  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
shorter  'A'  version,  found  in  a  single  manuscript  (Cam- 
bridge University  Library,  Gg4. 27).1  That  both  of  these 
versions  are  from  Chaucer's  own  hand,  no  one  has 
doubted;  but  the  question  as  to  the  relative  priority  of 
the  two  versions  was  long  in  dispute.  The  'A*  version 
contains  90  lines  not  found  in  '  B,'  lacks  124  lines  which 
'B '  contains,  presents  transpositions  of  several  important 
passages,  and  numerous  slight  alterations  in  individual 
lines.  Particularly  notable  is  the  fact  that  'A*  omits 
entirely  the  couplet  quoted  above  in  which  the  poem  is 
expressly  dedicated  to  Queen  Anne,  and  that  the  passage 
in  which  the  poet  expresses  his  devotion  to  the  daisy 
is  greatly  modified,  with  complete  suppression  of  many 
of  its  most  ardent  lines.  Had  this  version  alone  sur- 
vived, we  should  have  had  no  grounds  for  seeing  in  the 
poem  any  special  compliment  to  the  queen.  The  daisy 
would  have  seemed  to  typify  Alcestis  and  only  Alcestis. 

It  is  impossible  to  enter  here  into  all  the  intricacies 
of  the  argument.  It  must  suffice  to  say  that  virtually 
all  scholars  are  now  agreed  that  the  so-called '  B '  version 
is  the  earlier,  and  that  it  was  written  in  1385  or  1386, 

1  Recent  critics  sometimes  designate  the  '  A '  version  by  the  symbol 
'G'  or  'Gg,'  and  the  so-called  'B'  version,  the  text  of  which  is  best 
preserved  in  MS.  Faifax  16  of  the  Bodleian  Library,  by  the  symbol 
•F.' 


144      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

probably  in  the  latter  year.  Deschamps's  Lay  de  Fran- 
chise, which  seems  to  have  contributed  to  Chaucer's 
praises  of  the  marguerite,  was  composed  for  May -day, 
1385.  This  sets  an  early  limit  for  the  date  of  the  'B' 
Prologue.  It  was  certainly  written  before  the  death  of 
Queen  Anne  in  1394.  By  1387,  or  shortly  after,  Chaucer 
was  apparently  engaged  on  the  Canterbury  Tales,  and 
would  have  been  most  unwilling  to  undertake,  even  at 
royal  request,  another  collection  of  tales  based  on  a 
plan  artistically  so  inferior. 

When  Queen  Anne  died  in  1394,  her  royal  husband 
tore  down  the  palace  at  Shene,  where  she  had  died,  and 
avoided  everything  which  should  remind  him  of  his  loss. 
It  would  seem  that  the  so-called  'A'  version  of  the  Pro- 
logue, which  suppresses  the  dedication  to  the  queen 
and  obliterates  the  compliment  paid  to  her  in  the  earlier 
version,  was  called  forth  by  this  event  and  by  the  king's 
attitude  towards  it.  As  the  Legend  was  not  completed, 
it  had  probably  never  been  presented  to  the  queen, 
never  formally  'published.'  The  queen's  death  made 
the  dedication  no  longer  appropriate;  and  the  king's 
attitude  made  unacceptable  to  him  a  poem  designed  to 
do  her  honor.  To  adapt  his  still  unfinished  work  to 
these  new  conditions  would  seem  to  have  been  Chaucer's 
motive  for  revision.  If  so,  the  date  of  the  'A'  version 
must  be  shortly  after  1394,  a  date  which  is  corroborated 
by  other  considerations.1 

By  the  command  of  Queen  Alcestis,  Chaucer  is  to 
write  '  a  glorious  Legende  of  Gode  Wommen,  maidenes 
Plan  of  and  wy  ves '  who  were  saints  and  martyrs  in 
the  Poem,  the  cause  of  true  love.  Cupid  adds  a  further 
command  that  the  legends  shall  conclude  with  the  life 
of  Alcestis. 

1  For  a  fuller  discussion  of  the  problem  see  Tatlock's  chapter  on 
the  Legend  in  Development  and  Chronology  of  Chaucer's  Works. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD   WOMEN         145 

The  finished  poem,  then,  was  to  have  consisted  of 
the  Prologue,  followed  by  the  legends  of  the  nineteen 
ladies  who  form  Alcestis's  train,  and  concluded  by  the 
story  of  Alcestis  herself.  But  Chaucer  had  a  sad  habit 
not  unknown  to  us  moderns,  of  undertaking  a  large 
task  with  boundless  enthusiasm,  and  of  tiring  of  it 
before  the  task  was  half  performed.  He  wrote  nine 
legends  (the  last  unfinished),  praising  the  virtue  of  ten 
of  the  noble  ladies,  and  then  the  new  and  the  better 
idea  of  the  Canterbury  pilgrimage  took  possession  of 
his  mind.  With  the  intellectual  impatience  so  char- 
acteristic of  him,  he  started  on  the  fresher  task ;  and 
though  intending  to  finish  the  Legend,  as  shown  by 
his  reference  to  it  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Man  of 
Law's  Tale,  he  laid  it  one  side  to  wait  for  the  more 
convenient  day  which  never  came.  It  is  easy  to  see  why 
the  work  was  put  aside.  Charming  as  the  Prologue  is 
in  its  kind,  it  is  after  all  only  a  dream,  and  forever 
inferior  to  the  human  reality  and  broad  sweep  of  the 
Prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales.  Moreover,  since 
the  tales  were  all  to  be  told  by  the  poet  himself,  there 
was  no  opportunity  for  the  dramatic  variety  offered  by 
the  Canterbury  pilgrimage.  Lastly,  and  most  impor- 
tant, the  very  nature  of  the  plan  involved  inevitable 
monotony — all  the  stories  were  to  be  of  true  women, 
faithful  though  abandoned  in  love,  and  all  were  to  be 
drawn  from  the  realm  of  classical  antiquity. 

As  Professor  Lounsbury  has  pointed  out,  one  can 
trace  in  the  successive  sections  of  the  work  the  poet's 
growing  tedium.  Even  as  he  wrote  the  last  lines  of 
the  Prologue,  he  began  to  be  oppressed  with  the  mag- 
nitude of  his  undertaking.  The  god  of  love  warns 
him:  — 

'  I  wot  wel  that  thou  mayst  nat  al  hit  ryrne, 
That  swiche  lovers  diden  in  hir  tyme; 


146      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

It  were  to  long  to  reden  and  to  here; 
Suffyceth  me,  thou  make  in  this  manere, 
That  thou  reherce  of  al  hir  lyf  the  grete, 
After  thise  olde  auctours  listen  to  trete. 
For  whoso  shal  so  many  a  storie  telle, 
Sey  shortly,  or  he  shal  to  longe  dwelle.' 

A  similar  note  recurs  in  the  first  of  the  legends :  — 

The  wedding  and  the  feste  to  devyse, 
To  me,  that  have  ytake  swiche  empryse 
Of  so  many  a  storie  for  to  make, 
Hit  were  to  long,  lest  that  I  sholde  slake 
Of  thing  that  bereth  more  effect  and  charge: 
For  men  may  overlade  a  ship  or  barge ; 
And  forthy  to  th'  effect  than  wol  I  skippe, 
And  al  the  remeuant,  I  wol  lete  hit  slippe. 

Other  hints  of  weariness  may  be  found  frequently  in 
the  legends ; 1  but  quite  unmistakable  are  the  following 
lines  from  the  Legend  of  Phyllis  :  — 

But  for  I  am  agroted  heerbiforn 
To  wryte  of  hem  that  been  in  love  forsworn, 
And  eek  to  haste  me  in  my  legende, 
Which  to  performe  god  me  grace  sende, 
Therfor  I  passe  shortly  in  this  wyse. 

With  such  a  warning,  one  is  not  surprised  to  find  the 
next  legend  broken  off  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence.  One  curious  slip  on  the  poet's  part  gives 
further  proof  that  his  heart  was  not  in  the  work.  In 
the  Legend  of  Ariadne,  at  line  2075,  we  are  told  that 
Theseus  was  but  twenty  years  and  three  of  age ;  only 
twenty  lines  farther  on  Ariadne  suggests  that  her  sister 
be  wedded  to  Theseus's  son. 

On  the  basis  of  the  lists  of  heroines  given  in  the 
balade  introduced  into  the  Prologue,  and  in  the  Pro- 
logue to  the  Man  of  Law's  Tale,  Professor  Skeat  sur- 

1  See  11.  1002-1003,  1552-1553,  1565,  1679,  1692-1693,  1921,  2257- 
2258,  2470-2471,  2490-2491,  2513-2515. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN         147 

mises  that  the  remaining  legends  were  to  have  dealt  with 
Penelope,  Helen,  Hero,  Laodamia,  Lavinia,  Polyxena, 
Deianira,  Hermione,  and  Briseis:  but  since  the  two 
lists  are  not  in  accord,  we  may  well  believe  that  Chau- 
cer's mind  was  never  clearly  made  up  on  the  matter. 

The  peculiar  charm  of  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend 
of  Good  Women  is  in  part  the  charm  of  spring-time 
and  out-of-doors,  in  part  the  charm  of  noble  The  Pro- 
womanhood  as  figured  in  the  fair  Alceste,  and  logue> 
even  more  the  buoyant  joyfulness  of  new-won  freedom, 
as  of  an  Ariel  set  free.    First  we  see  the  poet,  Chau- 
cer, himself  in  his  daily  life  —  in  the  study  and  in  the 
fields.    Though  he  is  no  deep   scholar,   he   modestly 
confesses,  it  is  his  surpassing  delight  to  read  books,  — 

And  to  hem  yeve  I  feyth  and  ful  credence, 
And  in  myn  herte  have  hem  in  reverence 
So  hertely,  that  ther  is  game  noon 
That  fro  my  bokes  maketh  me  to  goon, 
But  hit  be  seldom,  on  the  holyday. 

Though  a  book-lover,  Chaucer  is  no  book-worm.  There 
is  one  attraction  more  potent  than  that  of  *  olde  bokes ' 
—  the  beauty  of  nature  in  the  fair  spring-time.1  But 
when  we  speak  of  Chaucer's  love  of  nature,  we  must 
be  careful  not  to  confuse  this  with  the  love  of  nature 
which  marks  more  modern  poets.  Nowhere  in  his  works 
is  there  any  suggestion  that  he  cared  for  the  wilder 
beauty  of  mountains  and  rocks  and  surging  sea.  We 
never  hear  that  he  spent  a  summer  in  Wales,  or  Corn- 
wall, or  the  Scottish  Highlands.  In  his  journeys  to 
Italy  he  must  surely  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Alps ; 
but  never  does  he  sing  of  cloud-capped  peak  or  snowy 

1  Chaucer's  picture  of  Maytide  is,  of  course,  largely  influenced  by 
the  conventionalities  of  the  French  love-allegories  :  but  his  poetry  is  so 
spontaneous  in  its  enthusiasm  that  we  may  safely  assume  that  the  con- 
vention chimed  with  his  own  natural  feeling. 


148      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

summit.  In  the  Franklin's  Tale  the  story  demands  a 
description  of  the  rocky  coast  of  Brittany;  but  the 
rocks  are  thought  of  as  terrible  and  destructive  rather 
than  as  beautiful.  They  even  cause  Dorigen  to  doubt 
the  benevolence  of  their  Creator :  — 

Eterne  god,  that  thurgh  thy  purveyaunce 
Ledest  the  world  by  certain  governaunce, 
In  ydel,  as  men  seyn,  ye  nothing  make  ; 
But,  lord,  thise  grisly  feendly  rokkes  blake, 
That  semen  rather  a  foul  confusioun 
Of  werk  than  any  fair  creacioun 
Of  swich  a  parfit  wys  god  and  a  stable, 
Why  han  ye  wroght  this  werk  unresonable  ? * 

Once  only  does  Chaucer  give  a  sweeping  view  from 

hill  or  mountain-side :  — 

Ther  is,  at  the  west  syde  of  Itaille, 

Doun  at  the  rote  of  Yesulus  the  colde, 

A  lusty  plaync,  habundant  of  vitaille, 

Wher  many  a  tour  and  toun  thou  mayst  biholde, 

That  founded  were  in  tyme  of  fadres  olde, 

And  many  another  delitable  sighte, 

And  Saluces  this  noble  contree  highte.3 

What  appeals  to  Chaucer  in  the  view  is  the  fertility  of 
the  plain,  and  the  evidence  of  prosperous  human  life 
furnished  by  *  many  a  tour  and  toun.'  As  for  Mt.  Ve- 
sulus  itself,  he  dismisses  it  with  the  single  epithet 
*  colde.'  The  tale  of  Constance  offers  abundant  oppor- 
tunity for  describing  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the 
sea ;  but  the  opportunity  is  not  improved.  It  is  merely 
the  *  wilde  see,'  or  the  *  salte  see,'  thought  of  as  dan- 
gerous and  cruelly  malignant.  What  Chaucer,  and  the 
men  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  general,  loved  in  nature 
was  the  peaceful  and  gentle,  the  beneficent  to  human 
life.  The  beauty  of  a  May  dawning,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  fairness  of  the  daisy,  the  gentle  sweep  of  a  green 
meadow,  the  long  avenues  of  a  well-kept  forest  —  these 
1  F  865-872.  2  E  57-63. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD  WOMEN         149 

were  the  charms  which  could  lure  Chaucer  from  his 
books  and  make  him  happy  for  a  long  summer's  day. 
It  is  hard  for  us,  bred  and  born  in  the  atmosphere 
of  romanticism,  to  sympathize  with  such  a  choice,  to 
understand  why  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Alpine 
passes  should  have  received  the  name  of  Mala  Via, 
the  4  bad  road ; '  and  yet  who  shall  say  that  love  of  the 
kindly  and  beneficent  is  not  as  sane  and  reasonable  as 
romantic  enthusiasm  for  the  desolate  and  destructive? 
Following  on  the  description  of  Chaucer's  daily  life 
comes  the  dream-vision  itself.  In  this  charming  vision 
one  may  notice  the  skill  with  which  the  poet  paints  a 
wide  and  crowded  scene  without  any  confusion  or  dis- 
traction of  attention  from  its  central  figures.  Though 
the  long  description  of  the  beauty  of  a  May  meadow 
belongs  to  Chaucer's  waking  experience  and  not  to  the 
dream,1  the  memory  of  it  is  so  fresh  in  the  reader's 
mind  that  no  further  painting  of  background  is  neces- 
sary ;  and  the  dream  begins  at  once  with  the  entrance 
of  the  god  of  love,  and  of  the  queen  whom  he  is 
leading  by  the  hand.  They,  as  the  central  figures  of 
the  scene,  are  described  with  all  beauty  of  detail,  the 
noble  womanhood  of  Alcestis  dominating  all  about 
her.  Then,  after  the  balade  has  been  sung,  our  atten- 
tion is  diverted  to  a  definite  number  of  attendants, 
the  nineteen  ladies.  They  are  in  *  royal  habit,'  but 
beyond  this  single  touch  they  are  not  described.  From, 
them  we  turn  to  a  vast  company  without  number,  and 
the  whole  scene  is  filled  with  beauty  and  goodness.  But 
suddenly  the  whole  throng  ceases  its  motion ;  all  kneel 
and  sing  with  one  voice :  — 

'  Hele  and  honour 

To  trouthe  of  womanhede,  and  to  this  flour 
That  berth  our  alder  prys  in  figuringe  1 ' 

1  We  are  speaking  of  the  B  version. 


150      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Once  more  our  whole  attention  is  brought  back  to  the 
object  of  this  adoration,  and  the  action  of  the  dream 
proceeds  uninterrupted  to  the  end. 

Beyond  all  this  beauty  of  nature  and  of  fair  vision, 
there  is  the  spirit  of  health  and  free-hearted  joy  per- 
vading the  whole  poem,  which  is  too  subtle  for  analy- 
sis, and  fortunately  needs  no  service  of  the  critic. 

Into  the  Prologue  Chaucer  threw  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  his  art ;  but  the  legends  which  it  introduces  were 
The  Nine  written,  as  we  have  seen,  half-heartedly. 
Legends.  Though  the  tales  are  well  and  gracefully 
told,  and  much  more  than  mere  imitations  of  classical 
authors,  many  readers,  I  think,  will  fail  to  read  them 
through.  We  are  conscious  of  a  'hidden  want,'  the 
want  of  Chaucer's  own  participant  enthusiasm.  Any- 
thing which  has  been  hastily  and  reluctantly  written 
will  be  hastily  and  reluctantly  read.  There  are  a  few 
passages  of  fine  description,  such  as  the  highly  ani- 
mated account  of  the  sea-fight  at  Actium  in  the  Legend 
of  Cleopatra  (a  description  which  suggests  the  tour- 
nament scene  in  the  l&iight's  Tale),  or  the  description 
of  the  hunt  and  ensuing  thunder-storm  in  the  Legend 
of  Dido  ;  there  is  true  pathos  in  the  story  of  Lucre- 
tia,  and  real  lyric  passion  in  the  lament  of  forsaken 
Ariadne ;  and  yet  we  feel  that  the  legends  are  in 
the  main  creditable  productions  rather  than  inspired 
poems.  Perhaps  the  Legend  of  Thisbe  comes  nearest 
to  being  real  poetry. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUP  A 

EXCELLENT  as  is  the  quality  of  Chaucer's  earlier  work, 
— rich  in  characterization,  in  humor,  in  pathos,  in 
essential  poetry,  —  it  is  in  the  Canterbury  Tales,  and 
in  them  alone,  that  we  find  the  full  measure  of  Chau- 
cer's greatness.  In  their  endless  variety  of  beauty  and 
charm  they  themselves  are  Chaucer.  To  attempt  any 
critical  appreciation  of  the  Canterbury  Tales  as  a 
whole  is  to  discuss  the  literary  art  of  Chaucer,  and 
that  has  already  been  attempted  in  an  earlier  chapter. 
Detailed  estimates  of  the  individual  tales  will  be  found 
in  the  pages  which  follow.  All  that  remains  for  con- 
sideration here  is  the  happy  device  by  which  the  sev- 
eral tales  are  bound  together  into  an  artistic  whole. 

All  the  world  loves  a  good  story ;  and  long  before 
the  days  of  Chaucer,  collections  of  short  tales  in  prose 
or  verse  were  popular  in  Europe  and  in  the  .^ 
Orient.   Very  often,  too,  an  attempt  was  made  Frame- 
to  give  to  such  compilations  a  sort  of  collec- 
tive unity,  either  by  community  of  theme,  as  in  the 
Legend  of  Good   Women  and  the  Monies  Tale,  or 
better  by  some  framework  story,  as  in  the  great  col- 
lection known  as  the  Arabian  Nights.   The  Confessio 
Amantis  of  Gower  is  merely  a  vast  treasure-house  of 
stories  bound  together  somewhat  clumsily  by  the  device 
of  a  lover's  confession  to  the  priest  of  Venus,  the  sto- 
ries being  told  by  the  confessor  as  examples  and  ad- 
monitions to  his  penitent.    Early  in   the   fourteenth 
century  we  have  in  English  a  collection  of  fifteen  tales 


152      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

unified  by  an  enveloping  plot  in  the  Proces  of  the 
Sevyn  Sages.  Most  famous,  perhaps,  of  such  collections 
of  stories  is  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio  ;  and  though, 
in  all  probability,  Chaucer  was  unacquainted  with  this 
work,  it  is  interesting  to  compare  the  way  in  which  the 
two  foremost  of  fourteenth  century  story-tellers  gave 
unity  to  their  work.  In  Boccaccio  a  company  of  ten 
young  men  and  women  of  high  social  standing  flee  from 
plague-stricken  Florence  to  a  country  estate,  the  pro- 
perty of  one  of  them,  and  pass  their  days  in  telling 
stories.  On  each  of  ten  days  a  story  is  told  by  each 
of  the  company,  the  stories  of  each  day  dealing  with  the 
same  general  theme.  Connecting  links  describe  the 
other  diversions  with  which  the  days  are  filled. 

Chaucer's  device  of  a  springtime  pilgrimage  to 
Canterbury  has  several  advantages  over  that  of  Boc- 
caccio. In  the  democracy  of  travel  it  was  possible  to 
bring  together  quite  naturally  persons  of  varied  occu- 
pations and  of  diverse  social  rank,  from  the  Knight 
to  the  Plowman,  and  in  consequence  to  give  to  the 
stories  a  greater  variety  in  theme  and  manner  than 
is  possible  in  the  Decameron.  Moreover,  the  motley 
complexion  of  the  company  and  the  adventures  of  a 
journey  give  rise  to  many  humorous  encounters,  which 
add  greatly  to  the  realism  of  the  whole.  With  constant 
change  of  scene,  and  with  wide  range  of  human  char- 
acters, tedium  is  impossible  ;  and  the  reader  enters  at 
once  into  the  exhilarating  spirit  of  travel  and  holiday. 

Had  Chaucer  carried  out  his  original  plan  for  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  the  Prologue  describing  the  gath- 
cring  at  the  Tabard  Inn  would  have  been 


Groups  of     followed    by   sixty    tales,   two    by   each    of 

the  pilgrims  including  Chaucer  himself,  each 

introduced  by  its  own  prologue.    The  connecting  links 

between  the  tales  would  have  kept  us  informed  of  the 


THE  CANTERBURY  TALES  153 

progress  of  the  journey,  where  the  nights  were  spent, 
where  dinner  was  taken,  of  all  the  little  happenings  of 
the  way.  Then  would  have  followed  an  account  of  the 
arrival  in  Canterbury  and  of  the  doings  of  the  com- 
pany while  there.  Sixty  more  tales,  with  their  connect- 
ing links,  would  have  brought  us  back  to  Southwark; 
and  a  concluding  section  would  have  described  the 
supper  given  to  him  who  should  be  judged  the  best  ra- 
conteur. Of  this  grand  scheme  Chaucer  completed  less 
than  a  quarter.  The  plan  was  modified  in  the  course 
of  execution  to  one  tale  from  each  pilgrim  on  the  way  to 
Canterbury,  and  one  on  the  return  ;  but  in  the  work  as 
we  have  it,  many  of  the  pilgrims  are  never  called  upon, 
and  the  company  never  reaches  Canterbury,  though  it 
gets  within  sight  of  its  towers.  Even  the  stories  which 
we  possess  do  not  form  an  orderly  sequence.  We  have 
the  first  tale  told,  the  Knight's,  and  the  last,  the  Parson's ; 
but  between  the  beginning  and  the  end  there  are  eight 
gaps  which  should  have  been  filled  with  tales,  or  with 
connecting  links ;  so  that  we  have  not  a  fragment  of  the 
whole,  but  nine  separate  fragments,  the  longest  of  which 
contains  seven  connected  tales,  and  the  shortest  but  one. 
These  fragments  are  usually  spoken  of  as  groups,  and 
are  for  convenience  designated  by  the  letters  of  the  al- 
phabet from  A  to  I.  Further  confusion  is  caused  by  the 
fact  that  in  the  various  manuscripts  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales  the  order  of  the  tales  is  different,  even  the  integ- 
rity of  the  several  groups  or  fragments  not  being  always 
preserved.  But  the  references  in  the  link-poems  enable 
us  to  constitute  the  groups  ;  while  the  geographical 
references  to  the  towns  through  which  the  pilgrims 
pass  make  it  possible  to  determine  with  certainty  the 
relative  position  of  all  but  one  of  the  nine  groups.  The 
group,  of  the  position  of  which  we  are  not  certain,  has 
been  assigned  by  Mr.  Furnivall  to  the  third  place  in 


154      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  series,  and  has  therefore  been  denominated  Group 
C.  Its  assignment  to  this  position,  though  based  on  the 
slightest  evidence,  has  been  generally  accepted  as  a 
convenient  practical  disposition  of  the  case. 

Fragmentary  as  is  the  work,  we  are  none  the  less  able 
to  piece  out  its  allusions  to  places  and  time  with  what 
The  Jour-  we  know  independently  of  the  usual  proced- 
Canter-  ure  °^  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas, 
bury-  and  thus  to  reconstruct  with  some  degree  of 

probability  the  route  followed  by  Chaucer's  pilgrims, 
and  the  time  taken  by  them  upon  their  journey. 

Though  it  was  possible,  when  demanded  by  urgent 
business,  to  make  the  journey  in  much  less  time,  it  was 
the  usual  custom  for  pilgrims  to  spend  four  days  in 
going  from  London  to  Canterbury,  the  recognized 
stopping-places  for  the  night  being  Dartford,  Roches- 
ter, and  Ospringe,  thus  dividing  the  journey  into  three 
easy  stages  of  about  fifteen  miles  each,  with  a  short 
stint  of  ten  miles  for  the  last  day.  Roads  were  rough 
and  heavy,  so  bad  that  wheeled  vehicles  were  usually 
impracticable ;  and  progress  was  necessarily  slow  and 
fatiguing.  In  the  case  of  the  pilgrimage  which  Chaucer 
describes,  there  were  many  reasons  why  the  ordinary 
rate  of  travel  should  not  be  exceeded.  There  were  three 
women  in  the  company,  and  several  of  the  pilgrims,  not- 
ably the  Clerk  and  the  Shipman,  were  but  ill  mounted ; 
April,  *  with  his  shoures  sote,'  had  made  the  roads 
heavy  with  mud,  as  we  know  from  the  Host's  assertion 
(B  3988)  that  he  was  so  bored  by  the  tale  of  the  Monk 
that,  save  for  the  clinking  of  the  bells  on  the  Monk's 
bridle,  he  would  certainly  have  fallen  down  for  sleep, 

Although  the  slough  had  never  been  so  depe  ; 

lastly,  the  journey  was  being  taken  mainly  for  pleasure, 
and  half  the  fun  of  a  vacation  is  to  take  your  time. 


THE  CANTERBURY  TALES  155 

At  the  beginning  of  Group  B,  which,  as  we  shall  see, 
occupies  the  second  day  of  the  pilgrimage,  we  are  told 
that  the  date  is  April  18.  It  is  on  the  evening  of  April 
16,  then,  that  Chaucer  enters  the  spacious  hostelry  of 
the  Tabard,  and  finds  the  nine-and4wenty  who  are  to 
be  his  fellow- voyagers.  Allowing  for  the  change  in  the 
calendar,  April  16  corresponds  to  April  24  in  our  reck- 
oning, and  at  that  date,  in  southern  England,  the  sun 
rises  about  quarter  of  five,  and  sets  about  quarter  past 
seven.  Early  on  the  morning  of  April  17,  at  break  of 
day,  the  Host  awoke  his  guests,  and  gathering  them 
into  a  flock,  led  them  forth  at  an  easy  jog, '  a  litel  more 
than  pas,'  the  Miller  playing  his  bagpipes  the  while,  till 
they  came  to  the  little  brook  which  crossed  the  Canter- 
bury way,  called  St.  Thomas-a- Watering.  Here  the  cuts 
are  drawn,  and  the  Knight  begins  his  tale.  By  the  time 
his  tale  is  ended,  the  musical  Miller  is  so  drunk  that 
*  unnethe  upon  his  hors  he  sat.'  South wark  ale,  we  are 
told,  is  responsible  for  his  condition.  He  is  not  too 
drunk,  however,  to  tell  his  churl's  tale,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  which  the  company  has  nearly  reached  Green- 
wich, and  the  hour  is  half  past  seven  (half-way  pry  me). 
The  Reeve's  Tale  next  follows,  and  after  that  the  frag- 
ment of  the  Cook's  Tale,  of  which  '  tale  maked  Chaucer 
na  more.'  Here  ends  Group  A ;  and  the  rest  of  the 
tales  of  the  first  day  are  silence.  The  night  is  probably 
spent  at  Dartford,  fifteen  miles  from  London. 

Either  the  start  next  day  is  delayed,  or  the  story- 
telling postponed ;  for  it  is  already  ten  o'clock  of  April 
18,  when  the  Host  reminds  his  friends  that  a  fourth 
part  of  the  day  is  gone,  and  that  they  are  wasting  time. 
Group  B  is  the  longest  consecutive  series  of  tales,  and 
since  near  the  end  of  it,  in  the  Monk's  Prologue,  the 
Host  says,  '  Lo !  Rouchestre  stant  heer  f aste  by ! '  and 
since  Ifachester  was  probably  the  stopping-place  for  the 


156  THE  POETRY   OF  CHAUCER 

second  night,  it  may  be  that  we  have  the  full  stint  of 
tales  for  the  second  day.  Rochester  is  thirty  miles  from 
London. 

There  is  nothing  to  determine  the  place  of  Group  C. 
Mr.  Furnivall  thinks  the  Pardoner's  desire  for  cakes 
and  ale  more  appropriate  to  the  morning,  and  hence 
assigns  it  conjecturally  to  the  morning  of  the  third  day. 

It  was  usual  for  pilgrims  to  dine  on  the  third  day  at 
Sittingbourne,  ten  miles  from  Rochester ;  and  since  in 
the  Wife  of  Battis  Prologue  the  Summoner  promises 
to  tell  two  or  three  tales  about  Friars  before  they  come 
to  Sittingbourne,  and  at  the  end  of  his  story  says, 
*  My  tale  is  doon,  we  been  almost  at  toune,'  it  is  reason- 
able to  assign  Group  D  to  the  morning  of  the  third  day. 
Group  E,  which  contains  a  playful  allusion  to  the  Wife 
of  Bath,  is  probably  to  be  assigned  to  the  afternoon  of 
the  same  day,  during  which  the  party  rides  six  miles 
to  Ospringe,  where  the  next  night  is  spent. 

Near  the  beginning  of  the  Squire's  Tale,  which  with 
the  Franklin's  constitutes  Group  F,  the  Squire  says 
(F73):  — 

'  I  wol  nat  tarien  yow,  for  it  is  pryme.' 

Since,  then,  the  time  of  day  is  nine  of  the  morning,  this 
group  has  been  assigned  to  the  morning  of  the  fourth 
day.  The  position  of  Group  G  is  clearly  determined 
by  the  opening  lines  of  the  Canon's  Yeoman's  Pro- 
logue :  — 

Whan  ended  was  the  lyf  of  seint  Cecyle, 
Er  we  had  riden  fully  fyve  myle, 
At  Boghton  under  Blee  us  gan  atake 
A  man,  that  clothed  was  in  clothes  blake. 

A  little  farther  on  we  are  told  that  the  Yeoman  had 
seen  the  jolly  company  ride  out  of  their  hostelry  in  the 
morning,  and  that  he  and  his  master  had  ridden  fast 
to  overtake  them.  Measuring  back  five  miles  from  the 


THE  CANTERBURY  TALES  157 

little  village  of  Boughton-under-Blean,  we  get  Ospringe 
a3  the  town  from  which  they  had  set  out  in  the  morning. 
From  Boughton  the  road  leads  through  the  Forest  of 
Blean,  a  favorable  place  for  robbers,  and  unwillingness 
to  ride  through  so  dangerous  a  place  alone  may  account 
for  the  Canon's  desire  to  join  the  larger  company. 
It  is  at  a  little  town,  — 

Which  that  ycleped  is  Bob-up-and-doun,  — 

that  Group  H  begins.  Antiquarians  are  not  agreed  in 
their  identification  of  this  village  with  the  picturesque 
name ;  but  the  village  of  Harbledown,  just  out  of  Can- 
terbury, seems  best  to  answer  the  requirements.  It  is 
not  yet  noon,  for  the  Cook,  too  drunk  to  tell  the  tale 
demanded  of  him,  is  reproached  for  sleeping  '  by  the 
morwe.'  The  Manciple  offers  himself  as  a  substitute ; 
and  it  is  his  tale  which  constitutes  Group  H. 

The  Parson's  Tale  apparently  follows  immediately 
on  the  Manciple's,  for  in  the  first  lines  of  the  Parson's 
Prologue  we  read :  — 

By  that  the  maunciple  hadde  his  tale  al  ended, 
The  sonne  fro  the  south  lyne  was  descended 
So  lowe,  that  he  was  nat,  to  ray  sighte, 
Degrees  nyne  and  twenty  as  in  highte. 
Foure  of  the  clokke  it  was  tho,  as  I  gesse. 

The  difficulty,  however,  resides  in  the  lapse  of  time.  If 
it  was  still  morning  when  the  Manciple  began  his  tale, 
how  explain  the  fact  that  it  is  four  o'clock  at  its  con- 
clusion? Because  of  this  inconsistency  in  time,  the 
Parson's  Tale  has  been  separated  from  the  Manciple's 
and  labeled  Group  I.  When  one  remembers,  though, 
the  way  time  is  made  to  gallop  in  Shakespeare  at  the 
demand  of  dramatic  effectiveness,  one  wonders  whether 
the  inconsistency  may  not  have  been  deliberately 
planned,  so  that  the  pilgrimage  might  end  appropri- 


158      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

ately  as  the  shadows  begin  to  lengthen.  Personally  I 
see  no  sufficient  reason  for  making  the  division  which 
Mr.  Furnivall  thinks  necessary.1 

What  Chaucer  would  have  done  with  his  pilgrims 
after  their  arrival  in  Canterbury  we  shall  never  know ; 
The  Tale  but  a  monk  of  Canterbury,  nearly  contempo- 
ofBeryn.  rary  with  Chaucer,  has  given  us  a  Tale  of 
Beryn,  supposed  to  be  the  first  tale  of  the  journey  back 
to  London,  told  by  the  Merchant,  the  Prologue  to  which 
consists  of  a  spirited  account  of  the  happenings  in  the 
cathedral  town.  This  tale  was  first  printed  by  Urry 
in  his  Chaucer  edition  of  1721,  and  has  since  been 
reprinted  in  1876  by  the  Chaucer  Society  from  a  man- 
uscript belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Northumberland. 

On  their  arrival  in  Canterbury,  the  pilgrims  go  to 
the  *  Cheker  of  the  Hope '  Inn,  where  the  Pardoner 
at  once  makes  friends  with  Kit  the  tapster,  who  gives 
him  false  hopes  of  her  favor.  The  cathedral  is,  of 
course,  the  first  attraction ;  and  thither  the  company 
goes  to  make  its  offerings  at  the  shrine.  The  gentles, 
after  being  sprinkled  with  holy  water,  pass  directly  to 
the  shrine  back  of  the  high  altar ;  but  the  Pardoner, 
the  Miller,  and  other  of  the  lewder  sort,  stare  at  the 
painted  windows,  and  try  to  guess  out  the  figures  de- 
picted in  them,  and  to  interpret  the  armorial  bearings. 
One  of  them  sees  a  man  with  a  spear,  which  he  takes  for 
a  rake.  After  kneeling  at  the  shrine,  praying,  and  hear- 
ing service,  all  proceed  to  buy  pilgrim's  tokens  to  set 
in  their  caps ;  but  the  Miller  and  Pardoner  manage  to 
steal  some  Canterbury  brooches  for  themselves.  Dinner 
passes  by  with  much  merry  talk,  and  in  the  afternoon 

1  For  the  account  of  the  journey  to  Canterbury  and  the  time  occu- 
pied therein,  I  have  drawn  on  Furnivall's  Temporary  Preface  to  the  Six- 
Text  edition  of  the  Canterbury  Tales,  §  3,  and  on  Littlehale's  Some  Notes 
on  the  Road  from  London  to  Canterbury  in  the  Middle  Ages,  Chaucer 
Society,  1898. 


THE  CANTERBURY  TALES  159 

each  follows  his  inclinations ;  the  Monk  takes  the 
Parson  and  Friar  to  call  on  one  of  his  friends;  the 
Knight  and  the  Squire  inspect  the  walls  and  forti- 
fications ;  the  Wife  of  Bath  and  the  Prioress  walk  in 
the  garden  (one  wonders  what  common  interests  they 
found  to  talk  about) ;  the  Pardoner  once  more  seeks 
out  the  tapster  Kit. 

Supper  is  eaten  in  grand  style,  the  gentles  treating 
the  rest  to  wine,  after  which  the  more  respectable  go 
to  bed,  while  the  Miller  and  the  Cook  sit  up  to  drink. 
Again  the  Pardoner  makes  advances  to  Kit,  which 
develop  into  a  broad  farce,  of  which  the  Pardoner  is 
the  unhappy  dupe.  At  daybreak  the  company  starts 
on  its  journey  home,  and  the  Merchant  is  called  on  for 
the  first  tale. 

This,  of  course,  is  not  Chaucer;  but  it  is  written 
in  Chaucer's  spirit,  and  is  interesting  as  the  work  of 
one  who,  living  in  Canterbury,  knew  well  how  pilgrims 
usually  disported  themselves.1 

For  a  work  so  composite  in  its  character  as  the  Can- 
terbury Tales  it  is  impossible  to  set  any  definite  dates. 
Several  of  the  tales  now  incorporated  in  the  Date  of 
collection,  we  know  positively,  had  been  writ-  ^bury 
ten  by  Chaucer  before  the  great  work  was  Tales, 
planned ;  and  the  same  may  be  true  of  other  tales  of 
which  we  have  no  definite  information.    The  Legend 
of  Good  Women  was  pretty  certainly  begun  in  1385  or 
1386,  and  was  probably  left  unfinished  because  of  the 
poet's  greater  interest  in  his  larger  work.    It  is  safe 
to  say,  then,  that  the  idea  of  the  Canterbury  Tales  was 
conceived  not  much  before   1387,   and  that  Chaucer 
continued  to  work  at  its  execution  intermittently  until 
the  time  of  his  death.  In  the  year  1387,  April  16  fell  on  a 

1  Chaucer's  disciple  Lydgate  also  wrote  a  tale  for  the  journey  back, 
which  is  entitled  The  Tale  of  Thebes. 


160      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Tuesday,  which  would  bring  the  pilgrims  to  Canterbury 
on  Saturday,  and  since  no  mention  is  made  of  Sunday 
on  the  pilgrimage,  it  has  been  argued  that  Chaucer  had 
the  year  1387  in  mind.  But  surely  this  is  holding  the 
poet  down  rather  closely  to  the  actual.  If,  however,  we 
must  have  a  precise  date,  1387  has  more  in  its  favor 
than  any  other. 

THE  PROLOGUE 

If  we  set  aside  the  wonderful  felicity  of  phrase  and 
the  sparkling  humor  which  are  common  to  nearly  all  of 
Chaucer's  maturer  compositions,  the  peculiar  greatness 
of  the  Prologue  may  be  said  to  reside  in  the  vividness 
of  its  individual  portraiture,  and  in  the  representative 
character  of  the  whole  series  of  portraits  as  a  true  pic- 
ture of  English  life  in  the  fourteenth  century. 

To  the  uncritical  mind  the  value  of  a  portrait  depends 
on  its  likeness  to  the  original,  the  fidelity  with  which  it 
reproduces  the  peculiar  traits  of  some  individual  man. 
Here,  as  in  most  things,  the  opinion  of  the  man  in  the 
street  is  not  to  be  lightly  set  at  nought ;  if  the  portrait 
lacks  fidelity  to  its  original,  it  ceases  to  be  a  portrait  at 
all.  On  the  other  hand,  if  it  does  no  more  than  repro- 
duce the  individual,  it  falls  short  of  true  art.  A  photo- 
graph may  be  a  perfect  likeness,  and  at  the  same  time 
supremely  uninteresting  to  all  but  the  friends  of  the 
sitter ;  the  portraiture  of  a  true  artist  is  interesting  to 
all  people  and  to  all  ages.  We  look  at  Rembrandt's 
portrait  of  Dr.  Tulp,  and  are  immediately  convinced 
of  its  lifelikeness.  Though  we  never  have  seen  the 
original,  the  marked  individuality  of  the  portrait,  the 
peculiarities  of  feature  and  expression,  convince  us  of 
its  truth.  But  there  is  more  in  the  portrait  than  the 
individual  anatomist  of  long  ago.  The  eager  passion 
to  learn  and  teach,  the  quick  play  of  intelligence,  the 


THE  PROLOGUE  161 

unassuming  authority  of  pose  and  gesture,  betray  the 
scientist.  We  behold  not  only  the  individual,  but  the 
type;  the  abstract  type  is  made  visible  and  real  as 
embodied  in  the  individual.  This,  the  end  and  aim  of 
true  portrait-painting,  is  true  in  its  measure  of  all  high 
art.  The  true  ideal  is  to  be  sought  in  and  through  the 
actual.  However  high  we  may  tower  into  the  region 
of  the  universal,  we  must  plant  our  feet  firmly  on  the 
actual ;  and  the  actual  is  of  necessity  individual. 

It  is  by  their  successful  blending  of  the  individual 
with  the  typical  that  the  portraits  of  Chaucer's  Prologue 
attain  to  so  high  a  degree  of  effectiveness.  The  Wife 
of  Bath  is  typical  of  certain  of  the  primary  instincts  of 
woman,  but  she  is  given  local  habitation  'bisyde  Bathe,' 
a  definite  occupation  of  cloth-making,  and  is  still  further 
individualized  by  her  partial  deafness  and  the  peculiar 
setting  of  her  teeth.  A  wholly  different  type  of  woman- 
hood, the  conventional  as  opposed  to  the  natural,  is  fur- 
nished by  the  Prioress.  The  description  of  the  gentle 
lady  abounds  in  minute  personal,  individual  character- 
istics, physical  and  moral ;  yet  all  these  individualizing 
traits  are  at  the  same  time  suggestive  of  that  type  which 
finds  fullest  realization  in  the  head  of  a  young  lady's 
school,  who  fulfills  in  our  modern  life  precisely  the  func- 
tion of  the  prioress  of  the  Middle  Ages.  What  is  true 
of  these  two  is  true  of  all  the  personages  of  the  Pro- 
logue. The  details  enumerated  nearly  always  suggest 
at  once  the  individual  and  the  type,  as  in  the  splendid 
line  about  the  Shipman :  — 

With  many  a  tempest  hadde  his  berd  been  shake. 

It  is  the  individual  character  of  the  several  portraits 
which  gives  to  the  Canterbury  Tales  its  dramatic  real- 
ism and  lifelikeness.  Their  universal  character  makes 
the  Prologue,  and  indeed  the  whole  body  of  the  work, 


162      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

a  compendium  of  human  life  as  it  passed  before  the  eyes 
of  Geoffrey  Chaucer.  It  is  as  a  representative  assembly, 
a  parliament  of  social  and  industrial  England,  that  we 
may  regard  this  Canterbury  pilgrimage.  Save  for  the 
very  highest  stratum  of  society,  the  lords  of  the  realm, 
who  are  after  all  but  the  golden  fringe  of  the  garment, 
every  important  phase  of  life  is  represented.  We  do 
not,  to  be  sure,  see  the  artisan  at  his  bench,  the  sailor 
on  his  ship,  the  lawyer  pleading  his  case ;  that  is,  of 
course,  dramatically  impossible ;  but  more  than  that, 
it  is  artistically  less  desirable.  Chaucer  has  shown  his 
personages  away  from  their  daily  tasks,  on  a  vacation ; 
and,  though  the  marks  of  the  profession  are  still  plainly 
discernible,  it  is  their  essential  humanity  which  is 
emphasized ;  each  is  measured  by  the  absolute  stand- 
ards of  manhood. 

The  life  of  the  Middle  Ages  lent  itself  particularly 
well  to  such  a  process  of  portraiture.  Though  the  dawn- 
ing of  the  Renaissance  was  beginning  its  emphasis  of 
the  individual,  society  was  still  organized  on  a  com- 
munistic basis ;  life  was  less  complex.  Members  of 
the  various  crafts  were  banded  together  in  guilds  and 
mysteries,  each  with  its  peculiar  livery.  Each  member 
of  a  guild  was  conscious  of  himself  as  one  of  a  body, 
its  representative  and  type.  To-day  things  are  very  dif- 
ferent. In  the  so-called  learned  professions,  perhaps, 
something  of  the  old  esprit  de  corps  has  survived.  In 
the  essentially  communistic  life  of  our  universities, 
again,  there  may  be  found  a  strong,  essentially  medi- 
aeval feeling  for  the  whole,  and  an  approximation  to 
a  common  type,  so  that  one  may  speak  of  a  typical 
Oxonian,  a  typical  Yale  undergraduate.  But  with  the 
majority  of  us,  the  typical  is  lost  in  the  individual  as 
far  as  character  goes,  while  in  costume  we  dress,  as  far 
as  possible,  alike. 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  163 

Chaucer's  west-country  contemporary,  in  the  Pro- 
logue to  Piers  Plowman,  has  also  painted  a  wide  pic- 
ture of  human  life.  In  his  fair  field  full  of  folk,  all 
sorts  and  conditions  are  seen  side  by  side,  the  mean  and 
the  rich,  *  working  and  wandering  as  the  world  asketh.' 
It  is  instructive  to  compare  this  picture,  which  some 
have  thought  responsible  for  suggesting  Chaucer's,  with 
the  picture  furnished  by  the  Prologue  to  the  Canter- 
bury Tales.  Langland,  with  his  allegorical  imagery 
of  the  heaven  and  hell  which  bound  our  little  life  on 
this  side  and  on  that,  gains  much  in  grandeur  and  im- 
pressiveness.  Chaucer,  with  his  individualized  types, 
gains  infinitely  in  reality  and  in  human  sympathy. 

THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE 

Early  on  the  morning  of  April  17,  *  whan  that  day 
bigan  to  springe,'  the  Host  calls  his  company  together, 
and  at  an  easy  gait  they  ride  out  of  Southwark  to  the 
music  of  the  Miller's  bagpipes.  When  two  miles  have 
been  traveled,  and  St.  Thomas-a- Watering  has  been 
reached,  the  Host  suddenly  stops  his  horse,  and  reminds 
his  guests  of  the  agreement  made  overnight :  — 
If  even-song  and  morwe-song  acorde, 
Lat  see  now  who  shal  telle  the  firste  tale. 

The  cuts  are  drawn ;  and,  either  by  fortune  or  over- 
ruling providence,  or  perhaps  by  the  manipulation  of 
the  Host,  the  lot  falls  to  the  Knight,  whom  every 
one  feels  should  be  the  first  to  tell  his  story;  and  the 
Canterbury  Tales  begin  with  a  high-wrought  tale  of 
chivalry  and  old  romance. 

Though  Chaucer  is  here  and  there  indebted  to  the 
Thebais  of  Statius  for  a  bit  of  description,  his  great 
obligation  for   the   KnigliCs  Tale  is  to  the 
Teseide  of   Boccaccio,  from  which  he  drew 
the  whole  outline  of  the  story.   Here,  as  in  the  case 


164      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

of  Troilus,  he  has  as  his  model  a  highly  artistic 
poem  by  one  of  the  foremost  authors  of  Italy  ;  so  that 
it  becomes  peculiarly  interesting  to  see  to  what  ex- 
tent, and  in  what  spirit,  he  has  departed  from  his 
original. 

Comparing  Chaucer's  version  of  the  story  with  that 
of  Boccaccio,  the  most  striking  fact  is  their  disparity 
in  length.  Exclusive  of  the  rimed  argomenti  which  pre- 
cede each  of  the  twelve  books,  the  Teseide  comprises 
9896  lines,  or  1237  stanzas  of  ottava  rima,  while  the 
Knights  Tale  contains  but  2250  lines  —  little  more 
than  a  fifth  the  bulk  of  its  original.  Besides  this  ruth- 
less use  of  the  pruning-knife,  one  notices  the  abandon- 
ment by  Chaucer  of  the  division  into  twelve  books,  and 
with  it  of  the  conventional  invocations  of  the  Muses, 
of  much  of  the  mythological  machinery,  and,  in  short, 
of  all  the  conventional  ear-marks  of  the  Virgilian  epic. 
But  more  significant  than  these  external  changes  are  the 
modifications  and  omissions  which  Chaucer  has  made 
in  the  story  itself.  These  can  be  best  shown  by  giving 
a  brief  synopsis  of  Boccaccio's  poem  as  it  unfolds  itself 
book  by  book. 

Book  I  narrates  in  1104  lines  what  Chaucer  sum- 
marizes in  a  dozen :  — 

How  wonnen  was  the  regne  of  Femenye 
By  Theseus,  and  by  his  chivalrye. 

Book  II  devotes  792  lines  to  the  home-coming  of  The- 
seus, and  to  his  expedition  against  Thebes,  which  re- 
sults in  the  capture  of  Palemone  and  Arcita,  and  their 
condemnation  to  lifelong  imprisonment.  In  the  third 
book  the  real  action  of  the  story  begins.  After  a  year 
of  imprisonment,  the  two  kinsmen  catch  fatal  sight  of 
Emilia  as  she  walks  in  her  garden,  but  with  Boccaccio 
it  is  Arcita  who  sees  her  first,  not  Palemone ;  while 
the  Emilia  of  the  Italian  is  not,  like  Chaucer's  Emily, 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  166 

so  wholly  unconscious  that  she  has  won  the  attention 
of  the  Theban  captives.  As  Arcita,  after  his  release, 
rides  away  from  Athens,  Emilia  stands  on  a  balcony 
and  receives  his  impassioned  farewell. 

The  whole  of  Book  IV  is  devoted  to  Arcita,  his  love- 
longing  in  exile,  his  return  to  Theseus's  court  under 
the  assumed  name  of  Penteo.  The  sorrows  of  the  love- 
lorn knight,  which  Chaucer  passes  over  half  humor- 
ously, are  detailed  by  Boccaccio  with  all  his  native 
sentiment.  Very  characteristic  is  stanza  32,  in  which 
Arcita,  who  has  come  in  his  wanderings  to  -3Dgina, 
stands  on  the  seashore  all  alone,  and  is  comforted  by 
the  breeze  which  blows  from  Athens,  the  breeze  which 
has  been  very  near  to  Emilia.  Book  V,  which  brings 
the  action  up  to  the  point  of  Theseus's  intervention  and 
the  ordaining  of  the  tournament,  differs  only  slightly 
from  Chaucer's  story,  save  that  the  escape  of  Palemone 
is  narrated  in  detail.  In  the  following  book  the  two 
kinsmen  collect  their  champions ;  but  instead  of  the 
two  vivid  descriptions  of  Emetrius  and  Lygurge,  Boc- 
caccio devotes  four  hundred  lines  to  a  catalogue  of  the 
heroes  who  take  part  on  the  two  sides.  Book  VII  is 
given  up  to  the  prayers  of  Arcita,  Palemone,  and 
Emilia,  and  to  the  description  of  the  amphitheatre. 
In  the  description  of  the  tournament,  which  fills  Book 
VIII,  Chaucer's  superiority  to  his  original  is  again 
evident.  Instead  of  his  brief  but  vigorous  picture  of 
the  melee,  the  Italian  furnishes  a  series  of  single  com- 
bats between  the  champions  of  the  two  sides,  warriors 
in  whom  the  reader  has  no  direct  interest  whatever. 
Meanwhile  Emilia  looks  on,  and  feels  her  love  go  out 
now  to  the  one  kinsman,  now  to  the  other,  according  as 
the  fortunes  of  the  battle  sway  now  this  way,  now  that. 
In  Book  IX  the  victor  Arcita  is  hurt  to  death  through 
the  device  of  Venus  and  her  hell-sent  fury.  In  place 


166      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

of  the  brief,  deeply  pathetic  speech  in  which  Chaucer's 
Arcite  takes  leave  of  friend  and  loved  one,  Boccaccio, 
in  Book  X,  draws  a  long  death-bed  scene,  less  effec- 
tive because  of  its  greater  length.  The  728  verses  of 
Book  XI  are  devoted  to  the  funeral  of  Arcita,  which 
is  celebrated  with  elaborate  games  after  Virgilian 
model.  In  the  closing  book,  after  an  interval  of  only  a 
few  weeks,  is  solemnized  the  wedding  of  Palemone  and 
Emilia.1 

The  Teseide  is  by  no  means  a  contemptible  compo- 
sition ;  but,  considering  the  slightness  of  its  plot,  it  is 
surely  much  too  long.  Nor  is  the  essentially  romantic, 
sentimental  character  of  the  tale  in  keeping  with  its 
elaborate  epic  machinery.  In  his  great  condensation, 
in  his  simplification,  in  all  his  changes  of  detail,  Chau- 
cer's superior  literary  discernment  is  plainly  evident. 
What  Chaucer  has  borrowed  is  the  outline  of  the  tale ; 
the  execution  is  mainly  his  own.  Mr.  Henry  Ward  has 
shown  2  that  of  Chaucer's  2250  lines,  270  are  directly 
translated  from  Boccaccio,  374  are  somewhat  closely 
imitated,  leaving  three  quarters  of  Chaucer's  lines  for 
which  no  parallel  is  found  in  Boccaccio. 

The  source  of  the  Teseide  has  never  been  discov- 
ered. Boccaccio  took  many  suggestions  from  the  The- 
bais  of  Statius ;  but  these  are  of  minor  importance. 
Scholars  are  inclined  to  believe  that  the  ultimate 
source  was  a  Greek  prose  romance  of  the  Byzantine 
period,  which  may  have  reached  Boccaccio  in  a  Latin 
translation. 

1  In  preparing  this  brief  synopsis,  I  have  made  frequent  use  of  the 
full  outline  of  the  poem  given  by  Koerting  in  Boccaccio's  Leben  und 
Werke,  pp.  594-615.   The  best  edition  of  the  Teseide  is  that  given  in 
vol.  ix  of  Opere  Volgari  di  Giovanni  Boccaccio,  ed.  Moutier,  Firenze, 
1831. 

2  Temporary  Preface  to  the  Six-Text  edition  of  the  Canterbury  Tales^ 
p.  104. 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  167 

That  Chaucer  had  already  written  the  story  of  Pala- 
mon  and  Arcite  not  later  than  1386,  we  know  from  the 
passage  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good   Date  of 
Women    where    Queen    Alcestis    recites    in   Composi- 
Chaucer's  defense  a  list  of  the  poet's  works  tlon* 
in  which  he  had  spoken  nobly  of  woman  and  of  love:  — 

And  al  the  love  of  Palamon  and  Arcyte 
Of  Thebes,  thogh  the  story  is  knowen  lyte. 

These  lines  can  only  refer  to  the  story  which  we  know 
as  the  Knight's  Tale.1  If  we  can  confidently  date  the 
tale  not  later  than  1386,  we  can  also  be  pretty  cer- 
tain that  it  was  not  written  earlier  than  1382.  Among 
the  ills  visited  upon  the  human  race  by  power  of  Saturn 
is  mentioned  (A  2459)  'the  cherles  rebelling.'  This 
seems  to  be  an  allusion  to  the  Peasants'  Revolt  of  1381. 
Similarly,  the  tempest  at  the  home-coming  of  Queen 
Hippolyta  (A  884)  was  probably,  as  Professor  Lowes 
has  pointed  out,  suggested  by  the  violent  disturbance 
of  the  sea  which  took  place  just  after  Richard's  young 
queen,  Lady  Anne  of  Bohemia,  had  first  set  foot  in  Eng- 
land in  December,  1381.  Neither  of  these  details  is 
foujid  in  the  Teseide.2 

The  composition  of  the  Knight's  Tale  falls,  then,  in 
the  same  period  as  that  of  Trcrilus  and  Criseyde;  and 

•>  More  recent  investigations  have  rendered  utterly  improbable  the 
conjecture  elaborated  by  Ten  Brink  (Chaucer  Studien,  pp.  39-70) 
and  Koch  (Englische  Studien,  1.  249-293,  English  translation  in 
Essays  on  Chaucer,  pp.  357-415)  and  accepted  by  Skeat,  that  the  ref- 
erence is  to  an  earlier  'Palamon  and  Arcite,'  written  in  seven-line 
stanzas  and  a  close  paraphrase  of  Teseide,  and  that  Chaucer  later 
worked  over  this  poem  in  a  greatly  abridged  form  for  the  Knight's 
Tale.  It  is  now  believed  that  the  poem  referred  to  in  the  Legend  was 
in  metre  and  in  scope  essentially  what  we  know  as  the  Knight's  Tale. 
See  F.  J.  Mather  in  Furnivall  Miscellany,  pp.  301-313,  and  Tatlock, 
Development  and  Chronology,  pp.  45-70. 

J  On  the  date  of  the  Knight's  Tale  see  Tatlock,  op.  cit.,  pp.  70-83. 


168      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  two  poems  have  much  in  common.  Each  is  a  re- 
working of  one  of  Boccaccio's  youthful  epics;  in  each  we 
find  the  same  blending  of  pathos  and  ironical  humor; 
in  each  a  tale  of  courtly  love  is  philosophized  by  a 
copious  infusion  of  Boethius,  and  made  to  point  the 
moral  that  earthly  felicity  is  transient  and  deceitful.1 
Which  of  the  two  was  written  first?  The  question  can- 
not be  answered  finally;  but  the  evidence  points 
strongly,  I  think,  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Knight's  Tale 
is  later  than  Troilus.2  In  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of 
Good  Women  it  is  clearly  implied  that  Troilus  is  widely 
known,  that  it  is  notorious  as  a  'heresy*  against  the 
law  of  Dan  Cupid;  whereas  it  is  explicitly  stated  that 
the  story  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  is  'knowen  lyte' — it 
has  exerted  but  narrow  influence  as  a  counteragent  to 
the  poison  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde.  This  suggests  that 
it  had  only  recently  been  finished,  or  at  any  rate  that 
its  circulation  had  not  been  wide.  If  composed  as  an  in- 
dependent poem  earlier  than  Troilus,  it  is  hard  to  see 
why  the  work  should  be  '  little  known.'  It  seems  prob- 
able, then,  that  the  poem  was  written  about  1385.  If  so, 
it  may,  perhaps,  have  been  intended  from  the  first  as  one 
of  the  Canterbury  Tales. 

The  Knight  has  wandered  far  and  wide,3  and  has  seen 
The  many  cities  of  men,  in  Russia,  in  Asia,  in 

Knight's  Africa;  but  he  has  lived  and  traveled  and 
Tale*  fought  in  the  fair  dream  of  chivalry,  — 


1  See  Dr.  B.  L.  Jefferson's  dissertation,  Chaucer  and  the  Consola- 
tion of  Philosophy  of  Boethius  (Princeton,  1917),  pp.  120-132. 

1  Professor  Lowes  argues  for  the  priority  of  '  Palamon '  in  Publica- 
tions of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  20.  841-854. 

8  See  A.  S.  Cook  on  'The  Historical  Background  of  Chaucer's 
Knight,"  Transactions  of  the  Connecticut  Academy,  20.  161-240,  and 
on  'Beginning  the  Board  in  Prussia,'  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic 
Philology,  14.  375-388;  and  S.  Robertson  on  'Elements  of  Realism  in 
the  Knight's  Tale,'  ibid.  14.  226-255.  J 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  169 

Trout  he  and  honour,  fredom  and  curteisye  ; 
he  is  as  unworldly  as  his  squire-son.   As  with  Tenny- 
son's Sir  Percivale,  — 

All  men,  to  one  so  bound  by  such  a  TOW, 
And  women  were  as  phantoms. 

He  tells  no  tale  of  his  own  wanderings,  his  own  expe- 
rience ;  he  hardly  deals  with  real  men  and  women  at 
all.  His  tale  is  of  chivalrous  ideals,  of  knightly  en- 
counters long  ago,  of  men  and  women  living  as  he  has 
lived,  in  dream  and  fancy.  Even  these  shadow  dreams 
are  hardly  more  than  moving  pictures  in  the  rich  and 
varied  pageantry  which  constitutes  the  world  of  the 
knight-errant.  The  opening  words  of  the  tale,  — 

Whylom,  as  olde  stories  tellen  us,  — 

carry  us  far  away  from  present-day  realities,  far  from 
the  Tabard  Inn  and  its  varied  company,  into  the  land 
of  story  and  of  long  ago.  It  is  to  ancient  Athens  and 
the  days  of  Theseus  that  we  are  bidden  go,  but  to 
an  Athens  which  the  student  of  classical  archseology 
will  hardly  recognize.  Though,  in  its  simplicity  and 
restraint,  the  story  is  by  no  means  un-Hellenic,  the 
manners  and  customs  are  for  the  most  part  those  of 
medieval  chivalry ;  and  we  had  best  forget  forthwith 
all  we  know  of  ancient  Greece.  Neither  Chaucer  nor 
his  knight  knew  much,  or  recked  much,  of  antiquarian 
lore. 

If  we  are  to  read  the  KnighCs  Tale  in  the  spirit 
in  which  Chaucer  conceived  it,  we  must  give  ourselves 
up  to  the  spirit  of  romance ;  we  must  not  look  for 
subtle  characterization,  nor  for  strict  probability  of 
action  ;  we  must  delight  in  the  fair  shows  of  things, 
and  not  ask  too  many  questions.  Chaucer  can  be  real- 
istic enough  when  he  so  elects ;  but  here  he  has  chosen 
otherwise. 


170      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Four  characters  only  are  brought  before  us  with 
any  prominence  :  Palamon,  Arcite,  Emily,  and  Theseus. 
Though  not  characterized  subtly,  as  Troilus  and  Pan- 
darus  are  characterized,  Palamon  and  Arcite  are  more 
than  mere  lay-figures  of  the  piece.  Of  necessity,  the 
two  kinsmen  have  much  in  common.  They  are  sisters' 
sons  ;  they  bear  identical  armor ;  their  lives  have  been 
spent  in  closest  fellowship  ;  they  have  sworn  a  knightly 
vow  of  perpetual  brotherhood.  It  is  not  until  the  fair 
ideal  of  friendship  is  shattered  by  the  stern  reality  of 
love  that  they  realize  their  disparity.  Then  it  is  clear, 
in  the  debate  which  they  hold  over  Emily,  and  in  their 
subsequent  actions,  that  relatively  to  one  another  Pala- 
mon is  the  dreamer,  Arcite  the  man  of  action.  It  is 
Palamon  who  insists  on  the  inviolability  of  their  vow 
of  friendship,  and  Arcite  who,  after  an  attempt  at  un- 
worthy quibbling,  comes  out  with  the  plain  statement 

that 

Love  is  a  gretter  lawe,  by  my  pan, 
Than  may  be  yeve  to  any  ertbly  man, 

and  who  recognizes  that,  since  they  are  both  condemned 
to  prison  perpetually,  the  question  of  prior  claim  to 
Emily  is  one  of  purely  academic  interest.  Partly  as  a 
result  of  opportunity,  partly  as  a  result  of  character,  it 
is  Arcite  who  determines  the  destiny  of  the  two  ;  while 
Palamon  merely  drifts  with  the  current  of  circumstance. 
The  same  distinction  is  observed  in  Arcite's  prayer  to 
Mars  for  victory,  the  definite  practical  means  to  the 
attainment  of  his  desires ;  while  Palamon  prays  Venus 
for  success  in  his  love,  leaving  the  means  of  its  attain- 
ment to  the  providence  of  the  heavenly  synod.  But  in 
prowess  in  arms,  and  in  chivalric  courtesy,  there  is  not 
a  jot  of  superiority  in  either ;  and  the  reader  of  the 
tale,  like  Emily  herself,  is  unable  to  decide  on  which 
he  would  wish  the  ultimate  success  to  light.  When 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  171 

the  action  closes,  and  the  dying  Arcite  betroths  Emily 
to  his  kinsman-rival,  friendship  wins  its  final  triumph 
over  jealousy,  and  the  two  noble  kinsmen  remain  in 
our  memory  not  as  dissimilar  rivals,  but  as  eternal 
friends,  one  and  indivisible. 

As  for  Emily,  she  is  a  fair  vision  of  womanly  beauty 
and  grace,  and  little  more.  Only  once  in  the  whole 
story,  and  that  when  the  story  is  more  than  half  done, 
in  her  prayer  to  Diana,  do  we  hear  Emily  speak.  We 
think  of  her  as  she  roams  up  and  down  in  her  garden 
on  the  fatal  spring  morning,  gathering  flowers  '  to  make 
a  sotil  gerland  for  hir  hede,'  singing  like  an  angel  of 
heaven.  We  see  her  beauty  and  recognize  her  worth, 
realizing  that  the  love  of  her  may  well  be  strong  enough 
to  break  the  friendship  of  a  life ;  and  yet  we  know 
her  not  at  all.  She  is  the  golden  apple  of  strife,  and 
later  the  victor's  prize ;  but,  consciously  and  of  her 
own  volition,  she  never  affects  the  action  of  the  tale ; 
she  does  nothing.  When  Fletcher  in  the  Two  Noble 
Kinsmen  tried  to  develop  her  into  a  dramatic  charac- 
ter, her  inaction  and  indecision  rendered  her  contemp- 
tible or  absurd.  Chaucer  wisely  kept  her  a  vision  and  a 
name,  letting  us  realize  her  character  only  in  its  effect 
upon  others. 

Theseus,  the  brave  warrior,  the  man  of  anger,  who 
is  yet  able  to  turn  anger  to  justice  when  persuaded  of 
the  right,  who  can  good-naturedly  see  the  absurdity  of 
Palamon  and  Arcite,  yet  tolerantly  remember  that 

A  man  mot  been  a  fool,  or  yong  or  old, 

and  that  he  too  had  been  a  lover  in  his  youth,  is  the 
most  actual  personage  in  the  tale.  He  is,  moreover, 
the  motive  power  of  the  plot;  his  acts  and  decisions 
really  determine  the  whole  story. 

It  is  not  in  the  characterization,  but  in  the  descrip- 


172      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

tion,  that  the  greatness  of  the  Knight's  Tale  resides. 
The  poem  opens  with  the  brilliant  pageant  of  the  vic- 
torious home-coming  of  Theseus,  thrown  into  sharp 
contrast  by  the  band  of  black-clad  widowed  ladies  who 
meet  him  on  the  way.  A  never-to-be-forgotten  picture 
is  that  of  Emily  roaming  in  her  garden,  while  the 
kinsmen  look  down  upon  her  through  thick  prison-bars. 
The  meeting  and  silent  encounter  of  the  cousins  in  the 
wood,  the  great  theatre  with  its  story-laden  oratories, 
the  vivid  portraits  of  Emetrius  and  Lygurge,  all  the 
varied  bustle  of  preparation,  the  vigorous  description 
of  the  tournament  itself,  —  these,  with  occasional  pas- 
sages of  noble  reflection,  form  the  flesh  and  blood  of 
the  poem,  of  which  the  characters  and  the  action  are 
merely  the  skeleton  framework.  The  Knight's  Tale  is 
preeminently  a  web  of  splendidly  pictured  tapestry,  in 
which  the  eye  may  take  delight,  and  on  which  the 
memory  may  fondly  linger.  In  the  dying  words  of 
Arcite :  — 

What  is  this  world  ?   What  asketh  men  to  have  ? 
Now  with  his  love,  now  in  his  colde  grave 
Allone,  withouten  any  companye,  — 

the  terrible  reality  of  the  mystery  of  life,  its  tragedy 
and  its  pathos,  are  vividly  suggested ;  but  it  is  only 
suggested,  as  a  great  painting  may  touch  on  what  is 
most  sacred  and  most  deep. 

It  is  this  essentially  pictorial  character  of  the  poem 
which  accounts  for  the  slight  success  of  Fletcher's  at- 
tempt to  translate  it  into  drama,  the  poetry  of  action. 
In  the  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  the  slenderness  of  the 
plot,  and  the  inconsistency  of  the  characters,  which  we 
have  accepted  without  question  in  the  Knight's  Tale^ 
become  painfully  apparent.  The  splendid  effectiveness 
of  silence,  which  Chaucer  has  utilized  so  artistically 
in  the  first  appearance  of  Emily,  and  in  the  encounter 


THE  MILLER  AND  THE  REEVE    173 

in  the  wood,  is  necessarily  sacrificed  to  dramatic  exi- 
gencies. The  tournament  is  transacted  off  the  stage,, 
and  the  descriptions  of  the  three  oratories  drop  out 
altogether.  A  reading  of  Fletcher's  drama  is  of  the 
greatest  help  in  enabling  one  to  recognize  the  distinc- 
tive poetic  qualities  of  Chaucer's  narration;  just  as  a 
comparison  with  Dryden's  brilliant  modernization  of 
the  tale  will  help  one  to  realize  the  peculiar  charm  of 
Chaucer's  simple,  unassuming  diction. 

THE  TALES  OF  THE  MILLER  AND  THE  EEEVE 

The  Knight's  long  tale  of  love  and  chivalry  won,  as 
it  deserved,  universal  approbation :  — 

In  al  the  route  nas  ther  yong  ne  old 
That  he  ne  seyde  it  was  a  noble  storie 
And  worthy  for  to  drawen  to  memorie. 

The  Host,  chuckling  with  delight  over  the  success- 
ful beginning  of  his  story-telling  scheme,  turns  to  the 
Monk  and  courteously  asks  him  to  tell  'sumwhat  to 
quyte  with  the  Knightes  tale.'  The  choice  of  the  Monk 
was  dictated,  doubtless,  by  the  Host's  punctilious  re- 
gard for  social  rank,  the  worthy  ecclesiastic  being  after 
the  Knight  the  most  dignified  personage  of  the  com- 
pany. But  since  the  Monk  must  of  necessity  tell  a 
serious  tale,  which  could  not  offer  a  sufficiently  effec- 
tive contrast  to  the  Knight's,  the  poet,  as  overruling 
providence  of  the  pilgrimage,  devises  an  interruption 
of  the  Host's  less  artistic  scheme  by  the  obstreper- 
ous intrusion  of  the  Miller;  who,  though  so  drunk 
that  'unnethe  upon  his  hors  he  sat,'  insists  that  he 
knows  a  '  noble  tale,'  with  which  to  repay  the  Knight. 
The  Host,  as  complete  tavern-keeper,  knows  not  only 
the  deference  to  be  paid  to  men  of  rank,  but  also  the 
more  delicate  diplomacy  of  dealing  with  a  drunken 
man.  When  his  soft-spoken  words  of  deprecation  fail 


174      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

to  silence  the  unruly  Miller,  he  recognizes  that  discre- 
tion is  the  better  part  of  courtesy,  and  suffers  him  to 
proceed. 

After  making  the  quite  unnecessary  *  protestation  ' 
that  he  is  drunk,  —  a  fact  of  which  he  is  convinced 
by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  —  he  announces  that  his 
tale  is  to  be  of  a  carpenter  and  his  wife,  and  of  how  a 
clerk  made  a  fool  of  the  carpenter.  But  this  theme 
treads  on  the  toes  of  another  in  the  company.  The 
General  Prologue  tells  us  of  the  Reeve  that — 

In  youthe  he  lerned  hadde  a  good  mister  ; 
He  was  a  wel  good  wrigkte,  a  carpenter. 

So  we  are  prepared  for  the  change  from  the  'noble 
tale'  of  the  Knight  to  the  ribald  tale  of  the  Miller 
by  an  altercation  between  drunken  Robin  and  the 
white-haired  Osewold,  who  thinks  the  tale  directed 
against  himself.  And  when  the  Miller's  tale  is  done, 
the  wounded  professional  pride  of  the  Reeve  furnishes 
us  with  a  companion  tale  of  how  two  Cambridge  stu- 
dents got  the  better  of  a  cheating  miller. 

The  tales  of  the  Miller  and  the  Reeve  are  so  closely 
linked  by  this  dramatic  interlude,  and  are  moreover  so 
similar  in  spirit,  that  it  will  be  convenient  to  treat 
them  together. 

For  neither  of  these  tales  do  we  possess  Chaucer's 
immediate  source ;  but  there  exist  stories  sufficiently 
like  them  to  indicate  that  in  neither  case  did 
Chaucer  draw  wholly  on  his  own  imagination. 
In  the  Miller's  Tale  we  have  a  combination  of  two 
stories  originally  distinct  —  the  story  of  a  man  who  is 
made  to  believe  that  the  great  day  of  reckoning  is  at 
hand,  represented  by  a  German  tale  of  one  Valentin 
Schumann,  printed  in  1559,  and  the  story  of  Absolon 
and  Nicholas,  to  which  an  analogue  is  found  in  a  col- 
lection of  novette  by  Massuccio  di  Salerno,  who  flour- 


THE  MILLER  AND  THE  REEVE          175 

ished  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century.   Other 
similar  tales  are  found  in  German  and  in  Latin.1 

A  tale  similar  to  that  of  the  Reeve  is  found  in  Boc- 
caccio's Decameron,  Day  9,  Nov.  6  ;  and  still  closer  to 
Chaucer  are  two  French  fabliaux  which  are  reprinted 
in  the  volume  of  Originals  and  Analogues  published 
by  the  Chaucer  Society.2 

The   point  of   strongest   resemblance   between   the 
tales  of  the  Miller  and  the  Reeve  is  their  extreme  in- 
decency, an  indecency  which  cannot  be  wholly  -n^  TWO 
explained  away  as  due  to  the  frankness  of  a  Tale8 
less  delicate  age.   Chaucer,  himself,  was  quite  aware 
that  to  many  of  his  readers  these  tales  would  be  objec- 
tionable.  Half   seriously,  half   playfully,  he  prefaces 
them  with  an  apology  in  which   he  warns   away  the 
squeamish,  and  at  the  same  time  disclaims  any  per- 
sonal responsibility  for  the  tales. 

What  sholde  I  more  seyn,  but  this  Millere 
He  nolde  his  wordes  for  no  man  forbere, 
But  told  his  cherles  tale  in  his  manere ; 
Me  thinketh  that  I  shal  reherce  it  here. 
And  therfore  every  gentil  wight  I  preye, 
For  goddes  love,  demeth  nat  that  I  seye 
Of  evel  entente,  but  that  I  moot  reherce 
Hir  tales  alle,  be  they  bettre  or  werse, 
Or  elles  falsen  sum  of  my  matere. 
And  therfore,  whoso  list  it  nat  yhere, 
Turne  over  the  leef,  and  chese  another  tale  ; 

Avyseth  yow  and  putte  me  out  of  blame  ; 
And  eek  men  shal  nat  make  ernest  of  game. 

1  Thoae  who  wish  to  go  farther  with  this  not  very  profitable  theme 
may  consult  the  papers  of  R.  Kbhler,  in  Anglia,  1.  38-44,  186-188  ;  2. 
135-136  ;  of  H.  Varnhagen,  in  Anglia,  1.  Anzeiger  81-85 ;  of  L.  Fran- 
kel,  in  Anglia,  16.  261-263 ;  and  of  E.  Kolbing,  in  Zeitschrift  fur  ver- 
gleichende  Literaturgeschichte,  12.  448-450 ;  13.  112.  See  also  L.  Proe- 
scholdt,  in  Anglia,  7.  117. 

8  Pp.  85-102.  For  a  full  discussion  of  the  sources  of  the  Reeve's 
Tale,  see  the  paper  by  H.  Varnhagen,  in  Englische  Studien,  9.  240-266. 


176      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

This  is  in  effect  a  repetition  of  the  disclaimer  given  in 
the  General  Prologue,  11.  725-742 ;  what  is  its  valid- 
ity ?  That  he  must  rehearse  all  the  tales  of  all  his  pil- 
grims precisely  as  they  were  told,  whatever  their  char- 
acter, or  else  '  falsen  som  of  his  matere,'  is  precisely 
the  argument  by  which  the  followers  of  Zola  defend 
their  ultra-realism.  The  simple  answer  to  all  this  is 
found  in  the  fact  that  the  great  poets  have  never  con- 
ceived of  their  function  as  that  of  a  mere  photographer 
or  stenographer.  They  '  imitate  nature,'  to  be  sure,  but 
with  a  difference.  If  it  is  their  duty  to  observe,  it  is 
also  their  duty  to  select,  to  adapt,  to  idealize.  It  would 
have  been  perfectly  possible  to  give  a  true  picture  of 
the  varied  humanity  which  made  up  the  Canterbury 
pilgrimage,  without  suffering  these  churls  to  tell  their 
4  cherles  tales,'  which  no  sophistry  can  elevate  into 
true  art. 

I  do  not  believe  that  Chaucer  was  in  the  least 
deceived  by  this  argument.  He  deliberately  chose 
to  insert  the  tales,  not  as  works  of  art,  nor  even  as  a 
necessary  part  of  a  great  artistic  whole,  but  merely 
as  a  diverting  interlude.  Making  a  rather  considerable 
allowance  for  greater  freedom  of  speech,  they  are  tales 
of  the  sort  which  entirely  moral  men  of  vigorous  na- 
ture have  found  diverting,  and  at  which  the  less  vigor- 
ous have  always  raised  their  eyebrows.  Having  chosen 
to  insert  the  tales,  he  playfully  answers  the  anticipated 
charges  of  the  moralist,  by  assuring  him  that  he  wrote 
the  tales  unwillingly,  compelled  to  do  so  by  the  higher 
moral  consideration  of  strict  truthfulness.  Inasmuch 
as  the  Canterbury  Tales  are  in  the  main  truly  great 
art,  and  as  these  tales  are  by  their  nature  not  true  art, 
I  think  it  unfortunate  that  Chaucer  included  them  ; 
but  I  am  very  far  from  considering  them  as  evidence 
of  immoral  character  in  their  author. 


THE  MILLER  AND  THE  REEVE    177 

What  I  take  to  be  Chaucer's  serious  defense  of  these 
tales  is  contained  in  a  single  line,  which  concludes  the 
passage  quoted  above :  — 

And  eek  men  slial  nat  make  ernest  of  game. 

In  other  words,  both  these  tales  narrate  practical  jokes, 
and  their  comic  interest  depends  on  the  clever  working- 
out  and  complete  success  of  the  trick.  In  the  Miller's 
Tale,  for  example,  the  attention  is  centred  on  the 
ludicrous  gullibility  of  the  jealous  carpenter  and 
the  clever  manoeuvring  of  hende  Nicholas,  not  on  the 
immoral  purpose  for  which  the  trick  is  devised.  So  in 
the  Reeve's  Tale,  there  is  a  sort  of  rough  poetic  justice 
in  the  complete  discomfiture  of  the  cheating  miller; 
and  on  this,  rather  than  on  the  immoral  character  of  the 
retribution,  the  effectiveness  of  the  story  depends.  It  is 
not  immorality  for  immorality's  sake,  but  immorality 
for  the  joke's  sake.  Of  course,  this  does  not  lessen  the 
moral  blame  of  the  two  Cambridge  students,  when 
seriously  considered;  but  it  very  materially  lessens 
the  immorality  of  the  story.  It  is  only  when  the  reader 
reverses  the  emphasis,  when,  in  Chaucer's  words,  he 
makes  earnest  of  game,  that  the  tales  become  actively 
immoral. 

In  the  Miller's  Tale,  in  particular,  the  attention  is 
diverted  from  the  lustful  and  nasty  features  of  the  story, 
to  the  brilliant  characterizations,  and  to  the  consummate 
skill  with  which  the  narrative  is  transacted.  In  none  of 
Chaucer's  tales  is  there  more  convincing  proof  of  his 
mastery  of  the  technique  of  story-telling.  The  tale  con- 
sists of  two  comic  intrigues  combined  into  a  single  unity. 
It  will  be  worth  while  to  notice  with  some  particularity 
the  steps  by  which  this  end  is  attained. 

Since  Nicholas  is  to  be  the  prime  mover  of  the  action, 
without  whose  machinations  neither  plot  could  have 


178      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

matured,  the  first  thirty-three  lines  of  the  tale  are  de- 
voted to  a  vivid  description  of  his  person  and  personality. 
The  carpenter,  as  passive  centre  of  the  plot,  is  next  de- 
scribed more  briefly.  Nearly  forty  lines  are  then  devoted 
to  a  description  of  Alisoun,  whose  attractiveness  consti- 
tutes the  causa  causans  for  both  intrigues.  These  por- 
traits, and  that  of  Absolon  which  follows  a  little  later, 
are  done  with  all  the  skill  which  marks  the  portraiture 
of  the  General  Prologue.  After  another  forty  lines,  in 
which  the  relations  between  Nicholas  and  Alisoun  are 
established,  the  main  action  is  fully  launched,  and  the 
natural  pause  which  ensues  is  utilized  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  second  action.  Absolon  is  described,  and  his 
persistent  attentions  to  Alisoun  are  recorded,  eighty- 
four  lines  sufficing  to  set  the  new  intrigue  afoot.  Re- 
suming the  thread  of  the  main  argument,  some  two 
hundred  and  fifty  lines  are  devoted  to  the  clever  scheme 
by  which  the  carpenter  is  beguiled  into  believing  that 
a  second  Noah's  flood  is  toward,  and  the  two  lovers  at- 
tain their  end.  Particularly  rich  in  humor  is  the  scene 
where  Nicholas,  in  feigned  trance,  predicts  the  coming 
deluge,  a  prediction  for  which  we  have  been  artistically 
prepared  by  the  earlier  statement  that  all  Nicholas's 
fancy  '  was  turned  for  to  lerne  astrologye.'  Again  there 
is  a  natural  pause  in  the  action,  in  which  the  story 
reverts  to  Absolon.  Because  the  carpenter,  in  instant 
fear  of  the  flood  which  is  at  hand,  has  kept  all  day  to 
his  house,  Absolon  is  led  to  believe  that  he  is  from 
home,  and  consequently  chooses  this  particular  night 
to  pay  his  addresses.  He  goes  to  Alisoun's  window, 
where  he  is  duped,  and  has  his  revenge.  This  section 
of  the  tale  occupies  about  a  hundred  and  sixty  lines. 
Thirty-eight  lines  now  suffice  to  end  the  tale.  The 
frantic  cry  of  '  Water ! '  uttered  by  Nicholas  as  a  result 
of  Absolon's  revenge,  wakes  the  sleeping  carpenter,  andj 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  179 

fitting  in  with  his  expectation  of  a  flood,  leads  him  to 
cut  the  ropes  which  suspend  his  ark  of  safety,  thus 
bringing  about  the  catastrophe  of  the  main  action. 

It  is  certainly  a  pity  that  such  excellent  skill  was 
expended  on  a  story  which  many  of  Chaucer's  readers 
will  prefer  to  skip ;  and  yet,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  this 
very  skill  which  does  most  to  minimize  the  objection- 
able character  of  the  tale. 

THE  COOK'S  TALE 

Whoever  may  have  been  offended  at  the  freedom  of 
the  Reeves  Tale,  jolly  Hodge  of  Ware  was  not  of  the 
strait-laced  sect :  — 

The  Cook  of  London,  whyl  the  Reve  spak, 
For  joye,  him  thoughte,  he  clawed  him  on  the  bak, 
'  Ha  !  ha  ! '  quod  he,  '  for  Cristes  passion n, 
This  miller  hadde  a  sharp  conclusioun 
Upon  his  argument  of  herbergage  ! ' 

Perhaps,  in  his  vocation  of  cook,  he  has  had  to  do  with 
cheating  millers,  and  consequently  finds  special  relish 
in  the  tale.  He  volunteers  a  *  litel  jape  that  fil  in  our 
citee,'  which  is  to  deal,  saving  the  presence  of  mine 
host,  with  a  London  'hostileer.'  After  some  playful 
allusions  to  the  tricks  of  the  culinary  profession,  the 
Host  bids  him  proceed. 

The  tale  of  the  Cook  is  a  mere  fragment,  extending 
only  to  fifty-eight  lines,  and  though  we  have  a  fine 
piece  of  portraiture  in  the  picture  of  Perkin  Revellour, 
who  is  to  be  the  hero,  and  a  fairly  complete  mise  en 
scene,  we  have  not  enough  of  the  story  to  form  any 
guess  as  to  its  plot.  We  can  only  surmise  that  it  is  to 
be  a  'merry'  tale  of  the  same  general  type  as  those 
of  the  Miller  and  the  Reeve.  Perhaps  it  was  a  recog- 
nition of  the  fact  that  three  tales  of  this  sort  on  end 
would  be  too  large  a  dose  of  *  mirth '  that  caused  the 


180      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

poet  to  abandon  it;  for,  as  the  old  scribe  says,  'Of 
this  Cokes  tale  maked  Chaucer  na  more.' 

There  is  a  spurious  tale,  certainly  not  by  Chaucer, 
which  some  of  the  manuscripts,  and  the  old  editions, 
insert  after  this  fragment  under  the  title  of  The  Cokes 
Tale  of  Gamelyn;  but  a  discussion  of  this  tale,  which 
has  some  interest  because  of  its  relation  to  Shakespeare's 
As  You  Like  It,  is  outside  the  scope  of  the  present 
work.1 

1  The  tale  may  be  fonnd  in  the  appendix  to  vol.  iv  of  Skeat's  Ox- 
ford Chaucer.  For  a  discussion  of  it,  see  the  article  by  E.  Lindner,  in 
Englische  Studien,  2.  94-114,  321-343. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUP  B 
THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S   TALE 

THE  first  day's  journey  had  brought  the  band  of  pil- 
grims only  fifteen  miles  on  their  way ;  and  the  night 
had  been  spent  at  the  little  town  of  Dartford  in  Kent.1 
Either  the  company  had  slept  long  and  started  late  on 
the  second  day's  ride,  or  the  beauty  of  a  sunny  morn- 
ing in  mid-April  had  made  the  diversion  of  story-tell- 
ing superfluous;  for  it  is  already  ten  o'clock  when 
the  Host  suddenly  turns  his  horse  about,  and  reminds 
his  fellow-voyagers  that,  a  fourth  part  of  the  day  is 
already  spent,  and  time  is  wasting.  The  Man  of  Law 
is  called  on  to  begin  the  entertainment  of  the  day.  As 
a  lawyer,  he  is  too  well  schooled  in  the  law  of  contracts 
to  refuse  assent : — 

'  To  breke  forward  is  not  myn  entente. 
Bihest  is  dette,  and  I  wol  holde  fayn 
Al  my  biheste  ;  I  can  no  better  seyn  ; ' 

but  since  the  tale  he  is  minded  to  tell  is  in  effect  the 
legend  of  a  good  woman,  he  feels  not  unnatural  hesi- 
tation in  narrating  it,  when  Chaucer,  as  all  the  pilgrims 
know,  has  written  a  whole  volume  of  such  legends. 

'  I  can  right  now  no  thrifty  tale  seyn, 
But  Chaucer,  though  he  can  but  lewedly 
On  metres  and  on  ryming  craftily,2 

1  Cf.  p.  155. 

2  The  depreciation  of  Chaucer's  skill  is  to  be  considered  a  bit  of  the 
poet's  half -humorous  modesty,  rather  than  as  representing  dramatically 
the  opinion  of  the  Man  of  Law. 


182      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Hath  seyd  hem  in  swich  English  as  he  can 
Of  olde  tyme,  as  knoweth  many  a  man. 
And  if  he  have  not  seyd  hem,  leve  brother, 
In  o  book,  he  hathe  seyd  hem  in  another.' 

Hereupon  follows  a  catalogue  of  women  faithful  in 
love  whose  stories  Chaucer  had  narrated,  or  planned 
to  narrate,  in  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  referred  to 
here  as  the  Seintes  Legende  of  Cupyde.  How  shall  he, 
the  Man  of  Law,  presume  to  rival  such  a  master  in 
this  particular  art?  Ovid's  story  of  the  daughters  of 
Pierus  who  dared  contend  with  the  Muses,  and  were 
for  their  presumption  turned  into  chattering  magpies, 
should  give  him  pause :  — 

'  But  nathelees,  I  recche  noght  a  bene 
Though  I  come  after  him  with  hawe-bake  ; 
I  speke  in  prose,  and  lat  him  rymes  make.' 
And  with  that  word  he,  with  a  sobre  chere, 
Bigan  his  tale,  as  ye  shal  after  here. 

Though  many  of  the  incidents  of  the  tale  of  Con- 
stance are  found  in  other,  earlier  stories,  Chaucer's 
immediate  source  was  the  Anglo-Norman 
Chronicle  of  the  Englishman,  Nicholas  Tri- 
vet, a  voluminous  English  scholar  and  historian,  who 
flourished  in  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century.1 
Trivet's  chronicle,  written  in  the  Anglo-Norman  French 
of  the  English  court,  devotes  a  long  section  to  the  his- 
tory of  '  la  pucele  Constaunce,' 2  the  account  agreeing 
in  all  important  details  with  that  given  by  Chaucer. 
Chaucer  has  very  considerably  condensed  the  story,  has 

1  The  Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  following  the  early  bio- 
graphers, Leland  and  Bale,  gives  the  date  of  his  death  as  1328 ;  but 
since  his  chronicle  includes  the  reign  of  Pope  John  XXII,  who  died  in 
1334,  the  date  is  certainly  wrong. 

2  As  reprinted  in   Originals  and  Analogues,  the  story  occupies  25 
pages.   The  text  is  provided  with  a  running  summary  and  a  translation 
in  English  (pp.  1-53). 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE  183 

added  many  original  passages  of  a  reflective  or  lyrical 
character,  and  has  altered  some  of  the  minor  details.1 
Thus,  for  example,  Trivet  narrates  in  detail  how  King 
Alia  slew  his  mother  with  his  own  hands,2  an  episode 
which  Chaucer  has  preferred  to  soften  down  into  a  mere 
vague  statement.  If  the  student  will  take  the  trouble 
to  pick  out  Chaucer's  original  additions  to  the  tale,  as 
indicated  in  the  foot-note,  he  will  find  that  they  com- 
prise all  the  most  beautiful  passages  in  the  tale.  Thus, 
when  Constance  and  her  child  are  put  to  sea  in  the  rud- 
derless boat,  Trivet  merely  says :  '  The  mariners  with 
great  grief  commended  her  to  God,  praying  that  she 
might  again  return  to  land.'  It  is  Chaucer  who  has 
added  the  sublimely  beautiful  lines  (825-868)  which 
show  her  noble  resignation,  and  supreme  trust  in  God. 
Of  what  wondrous  pathos  is  the  stanza :  — 

Hir  litel  child  lay  weping  in  hir  arm, 
And  kneling,  pitously  to  him  she  seyde, 
'Pees,  litel  sone,  I  wol  do  thee  non  harm.' 
With  that  hir  kerchef  of  hir  heed  she  breyde, 
And  over  his  litel  yen  she  it  leyde  ; 
And  in  hir  arm  she  lulleth  it  ful  faste, 
And  into  heven  hir  yen  up  she  caste. 

Chaucer's  less  gifted  contemporary,  John  Gower,  has 
also  told  the  story  of  Constance  in  the  second  book 
of  his  Confessio  Amantis ;  but  that  both  poets  went 

1  About  350  lines  of  the  1029  comprising  the  tale  are  not  represented 
in  Trivet.  Four  of  the  added  stanzas  (11.  421-427,  771-777,  925-931, 
1135-1141)  are  translated  from  the  De  Contemptu  Mundiof  Pope  Inno- 
cent III,  a  work  of  which  Chaucer  tells  us  (Prologue  to  the  Legend  of 
Good  Women,  A  version,  11.  414-415)  that  he  had  made  a  transla- 
tion (now  lost).  One  stanza  (11.  813-819)  is  from  Boethius.  The  rest  is 
Chaucer's  own.  Chaucer's  additions  comprise  lines  190-203 ;  270-287 ; 
295-315;  330-343;  351-371;  400-410;  421-427;  449-462;  470-504; 
631-658;  701-714;  771-784;  811-819;  825-868;  925-945;  1037-1043; 
1052-1078;  1132-1141. 

3  '  And  with  that  he  cut  off  her  head  and  hewed  her  body  all  to  pieces 
as  she  lay  naked  in  her  bed  '  (p.  38). 


184      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

independently  to  Trivet  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  each 
gives  details  found  in  Trivet,  but  not  found  in  the  other. 
But  a  few  points  of  agreement  between  Chaucer  and 
Gower  as  against  Trivet  make  it  probable  that  there  is  a 
relation  closer  than  that  of  a  common  source,  that  one 
poet  borrowed  a  touch  here  and  there  from  the  other's 
version.  If  so,  the  borrower  was  apparently  Chaucer;  for 
if  Gower  had  had  Chaucer's  text  before  him  as  he  wrote, 
it  is  hard  to  believe  that  he  would  not  have  appropri- 
ated some  of  the  strikingly  beautiful  passages  peculiar 
to  that  version.1  As  the  Confessio  Amantis  was  not  pub- 
lished till  1390,  we  can  with  some  confidence  assign  the 
composition  of  the  Man  of  Law's  Tale  to  the  last  ten 
years  of  Chaucer's  life,  a  date  which  is  in  accord  with 
other  indications  which  we  have  as  to  the  chronology  of 
the  Canterbury  Tales.2 

The  Man  of  Law's  statement  that  he  learned  the 
story  from  a  merchant  is  not  to  be  taken  seriously; 


1  For  a  full  discussion  of  the  question,  see  the  papers  by  E.  Liicke, 
'Das  Leben  der  Constanze  bei  Trivet,  Gower,  und  Chaucer,'  in 
Anglia,  14.  77-122,  147-185. 

*  For  the  evidence  which  points  to  a  date  as  late  as  1390  (perhaps 
later  than  1394)  for  the  Man  of  Law's  Tale,  see  J.  S.  P.  Tatlock,  De- 
velopment and  Chronology,  pp.  172-188.  Critics  have  been  inclined  to 
see  in  the  Man  of  Law's  statement  (B.  77-89)  that  Chaucer  would 
never  write  such  '  unkinde  abhominaciouns '  as  the  stories  of  Canace 
and  of  Apollonius  of  Tyre,  an  implied  allusion  to  the  Confessio 
Amantis,  which  includes  these  tales.  Though  both  stories  must  have 
been  familiar  quite  independently  of  Gower's  telling  of  them,  this 
reference,  if  made  shortly  after  the  publication  of  the  Confessio,  may 
have  been  intended  as  a  sly  dig  at  a  brother!  poet.  There  is  no  suffi- 
cient reason,  however,  for  believing  that  these  lines  indicate  a  falling- 
out  between  the  two  friends.  The  only  real  basis  for  a  supposed  es- 
trangement is  the  fact  that  in  later  recensions  of  the  Confessio  Gower 
omitted,  along  with  his  praise  of  King  Richard,  the  passage  of  gracious 
compliment  to  Chaucer  (8.  2941*-2959*)  found  in  the  first  recension. 
It  is  at  least  hazardous  to  assume  that  this  omission  is  to  be  explained 
only  on  the  ground  of  lapsed  cordiality.  But  see  Tatlock,  op.  cit. 
p.  173,  n.  2. 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE  185 

but  it  suggests,  none  the  less,  the  way  in  which  many 
mediaeval  tales  were  transplanted  from  one  country  to 
another. 

Looked  at  merely  as  a  narrative,  the  tale  has  but 
little  claim  to  greatness.  It  consists  of  a  series  of  im- 
probable episodes,  bound  together  merely  by  T 
the  accident  that  they  all  happen  to  the  same  as  a  work 
heroine.  Though  in  the  fact  that  the  fleet 
which  eventually  saves  Constance,  and  brings  her  back 
to  Rome,  had  been  dispatched  by  the  emperor  on  a 
punitive  expedition  against  the  'cursed  wikked  Sow- 
danesse,'  we  see  an  attempt  to  link  the  beginning  of 
the  tale  with  its  close,  there  is  too  much  of  accident, 
and  too  little  of  direct  causal  connection,  in  the  events 
of  the  tale  to  leave  it  any  organic  unity.  The  episode 
of  the  steward  of  the  '  hethen  castel,'  who  comes  down 
to  Constance's  ship  and  tries  to  violate  her,  is  in  no 
way  connected  with  what  precedes  or  follows.  The  tale 
has  all  the  structural  defects  of  the  typical  romance 
or  saint's  legend. 

What  raises  this  legend  into  the  realm  of  true  art, 
and  even  gives  to  it  a  high  degree  of  spiritual  unity, 
is  the  wonderfully  beautiful  personality  of  Constance. 
There  is  little  to  be  said  of  this  character  by  way  of 
analysis  ;  there  is  no  baffling  problem  of  motives  nor 
complexity  of  warring  qualities  to  fascinate  the  intel- 
lect, no  development  of  character  under  stress  of  cir- 
cumstance ;  from  the  first  she  is  utterly  transparent, 
utterly  perfect.  We  see  her  in  prosperity,  we  see  her 
in  bitterest  adversity,  in  what  she  believes  to  be  the 
hour  of  her  death ;  she  is  the  same  always,  unmoved, 
unshaken.  The  great  Christian  virtues  of  humility, 
faith,  hope,  charity,  sum  up  the  whole  of  her  nature ; 
by  these  stars  she  steers  her  rudderless  boat  as  she 
sails  in  the  salt  sea ;  by  these  she  lives  in  the  court  of 


186      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

emperor  and  king.  So  little  is  she  moved  by  outward 
circumstance,  that  the  mere  events  of  the  story  sink 
into  insignificance  ;  we  forget  their  improbability,  or 
rather,  in  the  presence  of  such  superhuman  perfection, 
the  supernatural  seems  merely  natural.  Chaucer  does 
not  try  to  explain  these  miracles  away;  he  accepts 
them  frankly,  even  gladly :  — 

Men  mighten  asken  why  she  was  not  slayn  ? 
Eek  at  the  feste  who  mighte  hir  body  save  ? 
And  I  answere  to  that  demaunde  agayn, 
Who  saved  Daniel  in  the  horrible  cave  ? 

Or  again,  '  Who  kepte  hir  fro  the  drenching  in  the  see?' 
Chaucer  asks,  and  answers :  — 

Who  bad  the  foure  spirits  of  tempest, 
That  power  ban  t'anoyen  land  and  see, 
'  Bothe  north  and  south,  and  also  west  and  est, 
Anoyeth  neither  see,  ne  land,  lie  tree  ?  ' 
Sothly,  the  comaundour  of  that  was  he, 
That  fro  the  tempest  ay  this  womman  kepte 
As  wel  whan  that  she  wook  as  whan  she  slepte. 

When  we  see  her  set  adrift  again  with  her  '  litel  sone,' 
weeping  piteously  over  his  distress  though  not  her  own, 
we  are  inevitably  reminded  of  another  Mater  Dolorosa, 
the  '  Moder  and  mayde  bright,  Marye,'  to  whom  she 
prays.  We  are  quite  ready  to  agree  with  Ten  Brink 
when  he  says :  '  The  heroine  here  appears  almost  a 
personification  of  Christianity  itself,  such  as  it  comes 
to  heathen  nations,  is  maligned  and  persecuted,  yet,  in 
the  strength  of  its  Founder,  endures  in  patience  and 
finally  remains  victorious.'  *  Be  it  remembered,  how- 
ever, that  she  is  more  than  a  personification,  a  per- 
sonality. 

I  fancy  that  we  are  often  inclined  to  underestimate 
the  art  which  is  requisite  to  the  depiction  of  such  a 
1  Hist.  Eng.  Lit.  (Eng.  trans.)  2.  156. 


THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE  187 

figure  as  that  of  Constance.  It  is  precisely  in  its  sim- 
plicity, its  absence  of  all  complexity,  that  the  difficulty 
of  the  portrayal  resides.  By  '  character '  we  mean  the 
markings  or  traits  which  distinguish  one  individual 
from  another,  or  rather  from  our  somewhat  vaguely 
conceived  '  normal '  man  or  woman.  In  bidding  us 
pattern  our  imperfect  natures  after  the  one  perfect 
nature,  Christianity  bids  us  shake  off  our  personal 
idiosyncrasies,  the  traits  or  markings  —  blemishes,  if 
you  will  —  which  distinguish  us  from  our  pattern.  It  fol- 
lows logically  that,  if  we  were  able  to  carry  out  this 
Christian  ideal,  we  should  lose  the  distinguishing 
traits  which  constitute  our  character  as  individuals. 
Constance  has  attained  the  ideal ;  she  is  perfect ;  and 
consequently  her  '  character '  seems  to  us  shadowy  or 
unreal.  In  a  sense  she  has  no  character.  To  depict 
such  a  nature  as  this  in  its  ideal  perfection,  and  yet 
to  make  us  feel  the  force  of  her  personality,  and  love 
her  and  sympathize  with  her,  to  accomplish  this,  is 
a  greater  artistic  triumph  than  to  create  a  Criseyde. 
Chaucer  is  here  working  hi  the  spirit  of  the  Christian 
Middle  Age,  which  loved  the  perfect,  the  universal ;  it 
was  the  Renaissance  which  taught  us  to  set  such  store 
by  the  necessarily  imperfect  individual. 

THE  SHIPMAN'S  TALE 

The  tale  of  Constance  has  given  the  lie  to  the  Man 
of  Law's  modest  statement  that  he  knows  no  *  thrifty ' 
tale.  At  its  conclusion  the  Host  rises  in  his  stirrups 
with  the  exclamation  :  — 

'  This  was  a  thrifty  tale  for  the  nones  ! ' 

He  is  apparently  in  the  mood  for  'thrifty'  tales,  for 
he  turns  next  to  the  parish  priest,  the  '  povre  persoun 
of  a  toun,'  and  demands  of  him  a  tale.  But  he  has 


188      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

unfortunately  larded  his  request  with  two  of  the  oaths 
without  which  his  tongue  seldom  wags  ;  and  the  good 
parson  is  scandalized :  — 

The  Persone  him  answerde,  '  ben'cite! 
What  eyleth  the  man  so  sinfully  to  swere  ? ' 

ach  unreasonable  objection  to  the  picturesque  in 
language  can  come  only  from  a  follower  of  the  new 
sect  of  Wiclif .  The  Host  makes  no  great  pretense  to 
religion ;  but  he  hates  a  heretic  ;  he  '  smells  a  loller  in 
the  wind,'  and  dreads  a  '  predicacioun  '  after  the  man- 
ner of  Wiclif 's  itinerant  preachers.  There  is  another 
staunch  upholder  of  orthodoxy  in  the  person  of  the 
conscienceless  Shipman. 

'  He  shal  no  gospel  glosen  heer  ne  teche. 

We  leve  alle,  in  the  grete  god,'  quod  he. 
'  He  wolde  sowen  som  difficultee 

Or  springen  cokkel  in  our  clene  corn.'  * 

Such  a  calamity  the  Shipman  stands  ready  to  avert  by 
telling  a  tale  himself,  which  he  promises  shall  be  free 
from  philosophy  or  other  scientific  lore.  One  need  not 
dilate  on  the  rich  humor  of  this  episode,  wherein  Chau- 
cer chooses  the  Host  and  the  Shipman  as  the  bitterest 
opponents  of  heretical  doctrine. 

We  do  not  know  the  immediate  source  of  the  /Ship- 
man's  Tale.   A  similar  story  is  found  in  the  Decam- 
eron,  Day  8,  Nov.  1  ;  but  Chaucer's  setting 
of    the   tale    near   Paris    indicates   that   he 
derived  it  from  a  French  fabliau  now  lost.    Save  for 
its  general  tone  of  loose  morality,  there  is  no  special 
appropriateness  in  assigning  the  tale  to  the  Shipman  ; 

1  The  term  '  loller '  or '  lollard,'  derisively  applied  to  the  followers 
of  Wiclif,  probably  means  only  a  foolish  talker ;  but  it  was  popularly 
associated  with  the  Latin  lollium,  tares,  with  reference  to  the  parable 
of  the  tares  sown  among  the  wheat. 


THE   SHIPMAN'S   TALE  189 

and  the  use  of  the  first  person  pronoun  plural  in  the 
passage  beginning  — 

He  moot  us  clothe,  and  he  moot  us  arraye, 

shows  that  it  was  originally  intended  for  one  of  the 
female  members  of  the  company,  who  can  have  been 
no  other  than  the  Wife  of  Bath.  Apparently  Chaucer 
first  wrote  the  tale  for  her,  and  then  lighting  on  another 
story  which  should  more  fully  reveal  his  conception  of 
her  character,  utilized  the  rejected  tale  for  the  Ship- 
man,  forgetting  to  eliminate  the  inconsistent  passage 
referred  to  above. 

Though  much  more  delicate  than  the  tales  of  the 
Miller  and  the  Reeve,  the  tale  of  the  Shipman  is  essen- 
tially  more    immoral.    Hende    Nicholas   re-  Theg^p. 
ceives  a  righteous  retribution  for  his  deeds;  man's 

Tale. 

and  the  two  Cambridge  students  have  at 
least  a  certain  provocation  for  theirs.  The  Monk,  Dan 
John,  is  false  not  only  to  his  professions  as  a  man  of 
God,  but  violates  also  the  sacred  laws  of  hospitality 
and  of  common  gratitude.  He  cultivates  the  friend- 
ship of  the  worthy  merchant  merely  that  he  may  live 
on  him,  and,  not  content  with  that,  deliberately  plays 
him  false  with  his  wife.  With  equal  nonchalance  he 
leaves  the  woman  he  has  corrupted  to  extricate  herself 
as  best  she  can  from  an  exceedingly  embarrassing  situ- 
ation. The  story  ends  with  the  laugh  all  on  his  side. 
The  moral  of  the  tale  seems  to  be,  as  Mr.  Snell  has 
put  it,  '  that  adultery  is  a  very  amusing  and  profitable 
game,  provided  that  it  is  not  found  out.'  The  intrigue 
is,  of  course,  a  clever  one,  the  actors  are  clearly  char- 
acterized, and  the  narrative  is  well  conducted ;  but 
neither  the  intrigue,  nor  the  art  of  the  tale,  is  brilliant 
enough  to  blind  us,  even  partially,  to  the  disagreeable 
picture  of  treachery  and  lust.  The  chief  artistic  merit 


190      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

of  the  piece  consists  in  the  realistic  picture  it  gives  of 
a  well-to-do  bourgeois  household,  and  of  the  business 
methods  of  a  fourteenth-century  merchant,  such  as 
Chaucer  must  have  seen  often  at  the  London  Custom 
House. 

THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE 

Very  different  is  the  tale  of  the  gentle  Prioress 
which  follows.  With  all  courtesy,  the  usually  rough- 
spoken  Host  turns  to  Madame  Eglantine  :  — 

'  My  lady  Prioresse,  by  your  leve, 
So  that  I  wiste  I  sholde  yow  nat  greve, 
I  wolde  demen  that  ye  tellen  sholde 
A  tale  next,  if  so  were  that  ye  wolde. 
Now  wol  ye  vouchesauf ,  my  lady  dere  ? ' 

And  the  courteous  request  meets  with  courteous  assent. 
As  set  forth  in  the  General  Prologue,  Madame  Eg- 
lantine's character  is  compounded  of  many  affectations. 
Scrupulous  in  her  dress  and  table  manners,  priding 
herself  on  her  command  of  an  antiquated  Norman 
French  which  she  supposes  is  still  the  French  of  fash- 
ionable society,  in  all  things  taking  pains  to  '  countre- 
fete  chere  of  court,'  she  stands  as  the  typical  superior  of 
a  young  ladies'  school.  Next  to  this  quality  of  utter 

*  seemliness  '  comes  the  good  lady's  tenderness  of  heart : 

She  wolde  wepe,  if  that  she  sawe  a  inoiis 
Caught  in  a  trappe,  if  it  were  deed  or  bledde. 

As  seen  superficially  at  the  Tabard  Inn,  she  is  dis- 
stinctly  likeable,  but  also  a  little  ridiculous.  The  true 
measure  of  her  character  is  to  be  found  in  the  fuller 
revelation  of  her  tale.  She  might  have  been  expected 
to  tell  a  courtly  tale,  which  should  establish  her  repu- 
tation as  an  accomplished  woman  of  the  world ;  but  her 
affectations  are  only  on  the  surface.  Her  legend  of  the 

*  litel  clergeon '  breathes  the  spirit  of  earnest,  heart- 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  191 

felt  religion,  and  shows  that  the  tenderness  of  her 
heart  is  not  confined  to  the  sufferings  of  a  wounded 
mouse  or  a  favorite  lap-dog,  but  makes  her  keenly 
susceptible  to  the  truest  and  deepest  pathos.  Instead 
of  the  calm  assurance  and  self-confidence  of  a  lady 
superior,  we  find  in  her  invocation  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin a  sincere  Christian  humility :  — 

'  My  conning  is  so  wayk,  o  blisf ul  queue, 
For  to  declare  thy  grete  worthinesse, 
That  I  ne  may  the  weigh te  nat  sustene, 
But  as  a  child  of  twelf  monthe  old  or  lease, 
That  can  unnethes  any  word  expresse, 
Bight  so  fare  I,  and  therfor  I  yow  preye, 
Gydeth  my  song  that  I  shal  of  yow  seye.' 

To  understand  the  spirit  which  gave  rise  to  stories 
such  as  that  told  by  the  Prioress,  we  must  think  our- 
selves back  into  a  time  when  the  antipathy 
which  some  Christians  now  feel  against  the 
Jewish  race  on  purely  social  grounds  had  all  the  force 
of  a  religious  passion.  *  His  blood  be  on  us  and  on 
our  children,'  shouted  the  multitude  of  Jerusalem ;  and 
the  multitude  of  mediaeval  Europe  felt  it  a  sacred  duty 
that  the  blood-guiltiness  should  be  brought  home  to 
the  self-cursed  race.  The  pages  of  European  history 
are  stained  with  many  stories  of  senseless  persecution, 
which,  though  due  doubtless  in  part  to  the  fact  that 
the  Jews  were  rich  while  the  Christians  among  whom 
they  lived  were  poor,  were  possible  only  because  of 
this  mistaken  religious  zeal. 

It  is  entirely  possible  that,  stung  into  fury  by  these 
persecutions,  the  Jews  may  have  sought  revenge  by  the 
treacherous  murder  of  Christian  children.  So  wide- 
spread a  belief  in  such  a  murderous  practice  could 
hardly  have  sprung  up  without  some  sort  of  founda- 
tion. But  be  that  as  it  may,  all  Europe  firmly  believed 


192      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

that,  inspired  by  fierce  hatred  of  Christ,  the  Jews,  in 
Passion  Week  particularly,  were  in  the  habit  of  reen- 
acting  the  scenes  of  the  crucifixion,  taking  as  their 
victim  any  Christian  child  whom  they  were  able  to 
decoy  into  their  houses.  If  the  child  was  not  crucified, 
he  was  murdered  outright,  and  his  blood  was  used  in 
some  gruesome  religious  ceremony. 

The  earliest  story  of  a  Christian  child  murdered  by 
Jews  comes  from  the  first  quarter  of  the  fifth  century, 
and  is  narrated  in  Greek  by  the  Church  historian  Soc- 
rates. As  translated  by  Dr.  James  of  Cambridge,1  the 
story  runs  as  follows :  '  Now  a  little  after  this  the  Jews 
paid  the  penalty  for  further  lawless  acts  against  the 
Christians.  At  Inmestar,  a  place  so-called,  which  lies 
between  Chalcis  and  Antioch  in  Syria,  the  Jews  were 
in  the  habit  of  celebrating  certain  sports  among  them- 
selves :  and,  whereas  they  frequently  did  many  foolish 
actions  in  the  course  of  their  sports,  they  were  put 
beyond  themselves  (on  this  occasion)  by  drunkenness, 
and  began  deriding  Christians  and  even  Christ  him- 
self in  their  games.  They  derided  the  Cross  and  those 
who  hoped  in  the  Crucified,  and  they  hit  upon  this  plan. 
They  took  a  Christian  child  and  bound  him  to  a  cross 
and  hung  him  up ;  and  to  begin  with  they  mocked  and 
derided  him  for  some  time ;  but  after  a  short  space  they 
lost  control  of  themselves,  and  so  ill-treated  the  child 
that  they  killed  him.  Hereupon  ensued  a  bitter  conflict 
between  them  and  the  Christians.' 

There  seems  to  have  been  no  recurrence  of  this  crime, 
either  in  fact  or  in  fiction,  until  the  year  1144,  when 
occurred  the  famous  *  martyrdom '  of  St.  William  of 

1  The  Life  and  Miracles  of  St.  William  of  Norwich,  by  Thomas  of 
Monmouth,  edited  by  Jessopp  and  James,  Cambridge,  1896,  p.  Ixiii. 
To  the  Introduction  of  this  volume  I  am  indebted  for  much  valuable 
information  about  the  legend. 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  193 

Norwich.  According  to  the  life  of  St.  William,  written 
a  few  years  later  by  Thomas  of  Monmouth,  a  monk  of 
Norwich  Priory,  William,  who  had  from  the  first  been 
distinguished  for  his  sanctity,  was  at  the  age  of  twelve 
decoyed  on  Tuesday  of  Holy  Week  into  a  Jew's  house 
in  Norwich.  Here  on  the  following  day  he  was  cru- 
cified and  pierced  in  the  left  side,  a  crown  of  thorns 
upon  his  forehead.  On  Good  Friday  his  body  was  put 
in  a  sack  and  carried  by  the  murderers  to  Thorpe 
Wood,  where  it  was  hanged  to  a  tree.  It  was  finally 
removed  to  the  Monks'  Cemetery  in  Norwich,  where 
many  miracles  were  wrought  by  its  agency.  That  a  boy 
named  William  was  actually  murdered  in  Norwich  in 
1144,  and  that  his  murder  was  attributed  to  the  Jews, 
we  can  assert  without  question ;  whether  or  not  any 
Jews  were  really  concerned  in  the  crime  is  open  to 
serious  doubt.  The  fame  of  his  martyrdom,  however, 
spread  rapidly ;  and  we  begin  to  hear  of  similar  boy- 
martyrs  in  England  and  on  the  continent.  Of  these 
the  most  famous  is  St.  Hugh  of  Lincoln,  alluded  to  by 
the  Prioress  at  line  1874  of  her  tale,  who,  according 
to  the  chronicle  of  Matthew  Paris,  was  murdered  by 
Jews  in  the  year  1255. l  The  tomb  of  St.  Hugh  is  still 
pointed  out  to  the  curious  visitor  at  Lincoln. 

The  number  of  such  supposed  martyrdoms  is  very 
large.  Adrian  Kembter,  in  a  book  published  at  Inns- 
bruck in  1745,  enumerates  fifty-two,  the  last  of  which 
occurred  in  1650.  Even  to-day  a  belief  in  such  Jewish 
atrocities  has  survived  in  Eastern  Europe.  The  New 
York  Sun  for  April  4,  1904,  published  the  following 
statement  under  date  of  Vienna,  April  3 :  *  Die  Zeit 
publishes  an  extraordinary  anti-Jewish  proclamation 
issued  by  the  Orthodox  Association  of  Odessa,  urging 

1  Three  ballads  on  the  murder  of  Hugh  of  Lincoln  are  found  in  Pro- 
fessor Child's  English  and  Scottish  Ballads. 


194      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

right-minded  Russians  to  follow  the  glorious  example 
of  their  brethren  who  settled  their  accounts  with  the 
Jews  at  Kishineff  last  Easter.  It  declares  that  the  vic- 
tory is  incomplete,  for  Satan  has  incarnated  himself  in 
the  Jews.  .  .  .  The  proclamation  adds :  "  The  Russians 
must  aid  the  government  to  exterminate  the  Jews,  who 
drink  the  blood  of  Russian  children."  '  * 

A  legend  so  widely  current  as  this  could  not  fail  to 
find  expression  in  literature,  especially  when  it  lent 
itself  so  readily  to  human  pathos  and  religious  enthu- 
siasm. The  Chaucer  Society's  volume  of  Originals 
and  Analogues  contains  three  stories  similar  to  that 
of  the  Prioress :  the  legend  of  Alphonsus  of  Lincoln, 
from  a  volume  entitled  Fortalitium  Fidei,  written  in 
Latin  prose,  and  dating  from  the  second  half  of  the 
fifteenth  century;  a  French  poem  of  756  lines  from  a 
collection  of  Miracles  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  by 
Gautier  de  Coincy  (1177-1236),  telling  the  legend  of 
an  English  boy  murdered  by  a  Jew  for  singing  Gaude 
Maria  ;  and  an  English  poem  of  152  lines  of  octosyl- 
labic couplets  from  the  Miracles  of  Oure  Lady,  which 
tells  of  a  Paris  beggar-boy  killed  by  a  Jew  for  singing 
Alma  Redemptoris  Mater? 

If  we  compare  these  three  versions  with  the  Prior- 
ess's Tale,  we  find  that  they  exhibit  several  traits  in 
common.  In  each  instance  the  story  is  told  to  the 
greater  glory  of  the  Virgin  Mary ;  it  is  the  devotion 
of  the  boy-martyr  to  her,  shown  by  the  singing  of  a 
hymn  in  her  honor,  which  leads  to  the  murderous  act 
of  the  Jew;  it  is  by  her  agency  that  the  miracle  is 
wrought  which  betrays  the  murder.  In  each  the  child's 

1  My  attention  was  called  to  this  modern  analogue  by  my  friend  and 
former  pupil,  Mr.  S.  B.  Hemingway,  of  New  Haven. 

2  The  Miracles  of  Oure  Lady  have  been  published  by  Dr.  Karl  Herat* 
mann,  in  Herrig's  Archivfur  Neuere  Sprachen,  56.  223-236. 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  195 

mother  goes  to  seek  him,  and  is  advised  of  his  where- 
abouts by  the  miraculously  continued  singing  of  the 
hymn.  The  first  and  third  versions  agree  with  Chau- 
cer in  specifying  the  Alma  Bedemptoris  Mater  as  the 
hymn  which  excited  the  wrath  of  the  Jew ;  the  first 
and  second  agree  in  stating  that  the  boy  learned  the 
hymn  at  school ;  the  first  and  third  agree  that  the  mur- 
dered body  was  thrown  into  a  '  wardrobe  ; '  the  second 
version  differs  from  all  the  rest  in  that  the  murdered 
boy  is  restored  to  life.  Of  the  three  versions  the  first 
is,  on  the  whole,  nearest  to  Chaucer's ;  but  its  date 
precludes  the  idea  that  it  was  Chaucer's  source.  Chau- 
cer must  have  used  some  version  of  the  story  which  has 
not  been  preserved  to  us.  For  purposes  of  comparison, 
however,  a  synopsis  of  the  tale  may  be  interesting. 

In  the  city  of  Lincoln  dwelt  a  poor  widow,  who  had 
a  son  ten  years  old  named  Alphonsus,  whom  she  sent 
to  school.  After  he  had  learned  to  read,  he  was  set  to 
study  the  rudiments  of  grammar  and  music.  Hearing 
often  that  splendid  antiphon,  Alma  Redemptoris,  sung 
in  church,  he  conceived  such  great  devotion  toward  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  so  deeply  impressed  the  antiphon 
upon  his  memory,  that  wherever  he  went,  day  or  night, 
he  used  to  sing  it  most  sweetly  with  a  loud  voice.  Now 
when  he  went  to  his  mother's  house,  or  back  again  to 
school,  his  way  led  through  the  Jewry.  One  of  the  Jews 
asked  a  Christian  doctor  what  was  the  meaning  of  that 
song  that  sounded  so  sweet.  On  learning  that  it  was 
a  hymn  sung  to  the  praise  and  honor  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary,  he  began  to  plot  with  his  fellows  how 
they  might  slay  the  child  who  sang  it.  Waiting  for  a 
favorable  opportunity,  they  seized  on  the  boy  as  he 
was  going  through  their  quarter,  singing  the  aforesaid 
antiphon  with  a  loud  voice.  Having  cut  out  his  tongue, 
with  which  he  praised  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  torn  out 


196      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

his  heart,  with  which  he  pondered  his  song,  they  threw 
his  body  into  their  privy.  But  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who 
is  mother  of  mercy  and  pity,  came  to  his  aid,  and  placed 
a  precious  stone  in  his  mouth  to  take  the  place  of  his 
tongue ;  and  straightway  he  began  to  sing,  as  before, 
the  aforesaid  hymn,  even  better  and  louder  than  at 
first,  nor  did  he  cease  day  or  night  from  his  singing ; 
and  in  this  manner  he  continued  for  four  days. 

Now  his  mother,  when  she  saw  that  he  did  not  come 
home  as  usual,  sought  for  him  throughout  the  city  ;  and 
finally,  at  the  end  of  the  four  days,  she  went  through 
the  Jews'  quarter,  where  her  son  had  been  slain,  and, 
behold,  the  voice  of  her  son,  singing  most  sweetly  that 
hymn  of  the  Virgin  which  she  had  often  heard  from 
him,  sounded  in  her  ears.  On  hearing  it,  she  shouted 
loudly ;  and  her  shouts  gathered  a  crowd  of  people, 
who,  with  the  judge  of  the  city,  broke  into  the  house 
and  took  the  body  away;  but  never  did  he  cease  to 
sing  that  sweet  song,  even  though  he  was  dead.  The 
body  was  placed  on  a  couch  and  borne  to  the  cathedral 
church  of  that  town,  where  the  bishop  celebrated  Mass, 
and  bade  the  congregation  pray  earnestly  that  the  se- 
cret might  be  revealed.  When  the  sermon  was  finished, 
the  little  boy  rose,  and  stood  upon  his  couch,  and  took 
a  precious  stone  from  his  mouth,  and  told  all  the  people 
what  had  happened  to  him,  and  how  the  Virgin  had 
come  to  him,  and  placed  the  stone  in  his  mouth,  that  he 
should  not  cease,  though  dead,  from  her  praise.  Having 
finished,  he  gave  the  precious  stone  to  the  bishop,  that 
it  might  be  placed  with  the  other  relics  on  the  altar, 
signed  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  holy  cross,  and 
committed  his  spirit  into  the  hands  of  the  Saviour. 

The  version  of  the  story  which  Chaucer  used  prob- 
ably differed  in  some  details  from  the  foregoing.  Chau- 
cer's schoolboy  lived  in  a  great  city  of  Asia,  instead  of 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  197 

in  inerry  Lincoln ;  but  the  more  significant  of  the  di- 
vergences may  well  be  laid  to  Chaucer's  artistic  genius. 
The  art  of  the  Prioress's  Tale  is  shown  chiefly  in  the 
increased  emphasis  laid  on  the  human,  as  opposed  to 
the  supernatural  aspects  of  the  story.  The  Chaucer's 
main  purpose  of  the  other  versions  is  to  show  Version- 
the  miraculous  power  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the 
black  malignancy  of  the  cursed  Jews,  the  murdered 
boy  himself  being  little  more  than  a  lay-figure,  a  ne- 
cessary part  of  the  machinery  of  the  tale.  Chaucer 
has  slighted  neither  the  glories  of  the  Virgin  nor  the 
wickedness  of  the  Jews ;  but  he  has  subordinated  both 
to  the  deep  and  tender  pathos  which  centres  in  his 
4  litel  clergeon,  seven  yeer  of  age,'  his  '  martir,  souded 
to  virginitee.'  Eight  full  stanzas  are  devoted  to  the 
setting  forth  of  his  sweetly  simple  child-nature,  before 
the  tragic  murder  is  even  hinted  at.  We  see  the  little 
clerk  on  his  daily  walk  to  and  from  his  school,  bending 
the  knee,  and  saying  his  Ave  Mary,  wherever  he  saw 
an  image  of  the  Motker  of  Christ.  His  learning  of  the 
hymn  which  is  to  prove  his  destruction  is  shown  in 
detail.  As  he  sits  in  school  conning  his  '  litel  book,'  he 
hears  the  Alma  Itedemptoris  sung  by  older  children 
in  another  room,  — 

And,  as  he  dorste,  he  drough  him  ner  and  ner, 
And  herkned  ay  the  wordes  and  the  note, 
Til  he  the  firste  vers  coude  al  by  rote. 

Even  the  older  schoolfellow  who  teaches  him  the  rest  of 
the  song,  and  tells  him  what  it  means,  is  clearly,  though 
briefly,  characterized:  — 

His  felaw,  which  that  elder  was  than  he, 

Answerde  him  thus  :  '  this  song,  I  have  herd  seye, 

Was  maked  of  our  blisful  lady  free, 

Hir  to  salue,  and  eek  hir  for  to  preye 

To  been  our  help  and  socour  when  we  deye. 


198      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

I  can  no  more  expounde  in  this  matere  ; 
I  lerne  song,  I  can  but  smal  grammere.' 

He  is  a  likeable  boy ;  but  he  lacks  the  divine  spark  of 
his  younger  comrade.  To  him  the  anthem  is  but  part 
of  his  school  task.  Not  so  the  '  litel  clergeon : '  — 

'  And  is  this  song  maked  in  reverence 
Of  Cristes  moder  ?  '  seyde  this  innocent ; 

'  Now  certes,  I  wol  do  my  diligence 
To  conne  it  al,  er  Cristemasse  is  went ; 
Though  that  I  for  my  prymer  shal  be  shent, 
And  shal  be  beten  thryes  in  an  houre, 
I  wol  it  conne,  our  lady  for  to  honoure.' 

If  we  wish  to  realize  Chaucer's  power  in  depicting 
these  children,  we  have  only  to  compare  them  with 
the  utterly  impossible  children  who  occasionally  appear 
in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  If  we  wish  to  appreciate 
the  difference  between  true  pathos  and  mere  sentiment 
in  the  portrayal  of  childhood,  we  may  compare  the 
Prioress's  Tale  with  Tennyson's  In  the  Children's 
Hospital. 

After  the  murder  is  done,  our  attention  is  called  for 
a  while  to  the  sorrowing  mother,  as  she  seeks  her  child, 
and  to  the  tender  love  of  the  Virgin  Mother  who  suc- 
cors him  in  his  death ;  but  our  ears  ring  through  it  all 
with  the  sweet,  clear  voice  of  the  martyred  boy  as  he 
sings :  — 

Alma  Redemptoris  Mater,  quse  pervia  cceli 
Porta  manes,  et  stella  maris,  succurre  cadenti, 
Surgere  qui  curat,  populo  :  tu  quse  genuisti, 
Natura  mirante,  tuum  sanctum  Genitorem, 
Virgo  prius  ac  posterius,  Gabrielis  ab  ore 
Sumens  illud  Ave,  peccatorum  miserere.1 

1  This  anthem  is  sung1  at  Compline  from  the  Saturday  evening  be-, 
fore  the  first  Sunday  in  Advent  until  the  feast  of  the  Purification 
(JBreviarium  Romanum,  Mechliniae,  1866,  Pars  Hiemalis,  p.  147).  There 
is  another  Advent  antiphon  beginning  with  tha  same  line  (see  Skeat's 


SIR  THOPAS  199 

SIR   THOPAS   AND  THE  TALE   OF  MELIBEUS 

The  Prioress's  tale  of  the  'litel  clergeon'  has  left 
the  company,  as  well  it  might,  in  sober  mood.  It  is  the 
sort  of  story  that  one  wants  to  ponder  awhile  in  rever- 
ent silence.  Even  the  rougher  members  of  the  party 
are  deeply  touched ;  and  the  Host  himself,  when,  feel- 
ing his  obligation  to  keep  the  journey  a  merry  one,  he 
begins  to  jest  and  jape  again,  pays  subtle  tribute  to 
the  potency  of  the  spell  by  speaking  in  the  seven-line 
stanza  of  the  Prioress's  Tale. 

The  Host  begins  to  look  about  for  the  teller  of  the 
next  tale.  It  must  be  a  tale  of  mirth  to  restore  the 
light-heartedness  of  the  company ;  but  not  a  '  mery ' 
tale  of  the  coarser  sort  —  that  would  be  too  violent  a 
shifting  of  tone.  His  glance  lights  on  Chaucer,  who  is 
riding  silently,  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  '  in  thought- 
ful or  in  pensive  mood,'  attentively  listening  to  all 
that  is  said,  but  taking  no  part  in  the  general  conver- 
sation. He  is  just  the  man  to  tell  'som  deyntee  thing.' 
The  poet  is  apparently  traveling  incognito ; 1  the  Host, 
at  least,  has  no  inkling  as  to  the  identity  of  the  guest 
whom  he  is  entertaining  unawares.  He  begins  by 
rallying  him  good-naturedly,  though  unceremoniously, 
on  his  retiring  manners,  and  on  the  generous  propor- 
tions of  his  figure :  — 

'  He  in  the  waast  is  shape  as  wel  as  I.' 

There  is  something  '  elvish '  about  his  countenance, 
says  the  Host,  as  though  he  were  a  visitant  from  the 
land  of  faery,  in  the  world,  but  not  of  it.  Precisely  the 

Oxford  Chaucer,  5.  177) ;  but  that  the  one  given  above  is  the  one  Chau- 
cer had  in  mind  is  rendered  probable  by  the  direct  translation  from  it 
given  in  the  third  of  the  three  versions  of  the  legend  mentioned  above. 
1  One  wonders  whether  the  Man  of  Law  in  his  reference  to  Chaucer 
was  equally  ignorant  of  the  poet's  presence. 


200      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

word,  we  agree,  to  describe  the  peculiar  elusiveuess  of 
Chaucer's  playful-serious  nature. 

If  the  Host  is  ignorant  of  Chaucer's  identity,  we  are 
not ;  and  when  Geoffrey  agrees  to  tell  a  story,  we  pre- 
pare ourselves  for  a  tale  which  shall  be  the  masterpiece 
of  the  whole  collection.  But  that  is  not  Chaucer's  way. 
It  is  much  more  modest,  and  vastly  more  humorous, 
that  he  should  represent  himself  as  telling  a  tale  which 
should  outwear  the  patience  of  his  hearers  before  it 
was  half  told.  Dramatically,  too,  his  choice  is  entirely 
probable.  Suppose  a  great  master  of  the  violin  trav- 
eling incognito  should  be  jocosely  invited  to  '  favor  the 
company  with  a  tune;'  what  more  likely,  granting 
him  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  than  that  he  should  tune 
his  fiddle  and  strike  up  Yankee  Doodle  or  an  Irish  jig? 
His  musical  reputation  is  secure.  And  so  with  Chau- 
cer; does  not  the  reader  know  that  all  the  tales  are 
his  ?  A  keen  observer  would  doubtless  detect  a  master's 
touch  even  in  the  rendition  of  Yankee  Doodle,  and 
the  veriest  tyro  in  literature  must  recognize  that  the 
burlesque  of  Sir  Thopas  is  executed  with  matchless 
poetical  skill. 

To  appreciate  fully  the  delicacy  and  point  of  this 
literary  satire,  one  should  know  some  of  the  weary 
The  Rime  romances  which  so  vastly  delighted  our  fore- 
ofsir  fathers  of  long  ago.1  From  morn  to  noon, 

from  noon  to  dewy  eve,  one  may  read  of 
Sir  Degrevant  and  Sir  Eglamour  and  Sir  Guy  of 
Warwick,  of  Lybeaus  Disconus  and  of  the  mythical 
Alexander.  These  romances  often  have  the  charm  of 
naive  simplicity,  but  they  are  terribly  long-winded,  full 

1  A  readily  accessible  example  of  the  species,  though  written  long 
after  Chaucer's  death,  is  the  Squyr  of  Lowe  Degre,  recently  edited  for 
the  Athenfeum  Press  Series  by  Professor  W.  E.  Mead.  It  is  by  no 
means  wholly  devoid  of  interest,  and  is,  as  its  editor  remarks,  '  merci- 
fully brief.'  The  language  will  offer  no  difficulty  to  a  reader  of  Chaucer. 


SIR  THOPAS  201 

of  digression  and  minute  description,  and,  of  course, 
highly  improbable. 

With  such  works  before  him,  Chaucer  might  very 
easily  have  given  us  a  howling  farce,  after  the  manner 
of  Shakespeare's  'Pyramus  and  Thisbe'  or  Butler's 
Hudibras ;  but  this  would  not  have  been  quite  courte- 
ous to  those  of  his  contemporaries  who  were  still  writ- 
ing such  romances,  and  to  the  still  larger  number  who 
still  were  glad  to  read  them.  Neither  would  it  have 
been  so  effective ;  one  may  easily  o'erleap  himself  in 
the  matter  of  satire,  and  make  his  caricature  so  gross 
that  it  ceases  to  convince.  Chaucer  has  performed  the 
more  delicate  and  much  more  difficult  task  of  writing 
an  imitation,  so  true  to  the  original  that  one  might 
easily  read  it  through  in  a  collection  of  romances  with- 
out suspecting  its  good  faith,  while  so  subtly  height- 
ening the  original  traits  of  diffuseness  and  essen- 
tial nonsense,  that  its  absurdity  becomes  immediately 
patent  to  one  who  will  look  a  second  time.  All  the 
real  charm  of  na'i  ve  simplicity  Chaucer  has  reproduced 
intact.  We  are  really  disappointed  when  the  tale  is 
rudely  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  line.  Nearly  a  hun- 
dred lines  pass  musically  by  before  anything  happens 
at  all.  At  last  the  much  belauded  hero  finds  himself 
face  to  face  with  a  '  greet  geaunt,'  and  we  look  to  see 
lively  action.  But  no;  Sir  Thopas  politely  promises 
to  meet  the  giant  to-morrow,  and  makes  his  escape. 

And  al  it  was  thurgh  goddes  gras 
And  thurgh  his  fair  beringe. 

We  must  hear  to  the  minutest  detail  how  he  was  armed, 
and  how  he  appeared  as  he  rode  forth ;  and  the  tale  is 
interrupted  in  its  two  hundred  and  seventh  line,  before 
there  is  any  remote  prospect  of  battle.  The  broad  drift 
of  the  absurdity  is  obvious  enough  ;  it  is  in  little  touches 
of  the  deepest  bathos,  and  in  the  continually  recurring 


202      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

tone  of  petit-bourgeoisie^  that  the  subtler  humor  re- 
sides. We  are  to  be  impressed  with  the  hero's  surpass- 
ing comeliness  of  feature.  His  face  is  white  as  a  lily  ? 
No,  as  payndemayn,  the  choicest  quality  of  wheat 
bread.  'His  rode  is  lyk  scarlet  in  grayn,'  i.  e.  it  will 
not  come  out  in  the  wash.  And  to  cap  the  stanza:  — 

And  I  yow  telle  in  good  certayn, 
He  hadde  a  semely  nose. 

The  forest  through  which  Childe  Thopas  rides  is  in- 
fested with  many  wild  beasts.  We  look  to  hear  of  the 
lion  and  the  pard  ;  but  the  next  verse  explains :  — 

Ye,  bothe  bukke  and  hare  1 

Or,  again,  we  are  to  be  told  how  the  hero's  very  person 
inspires  fear :  — 

For  in  that  contree  was  ther  noon 
That  to  him  dorste  ryde  or  goon, 
Neither  wyf  ne  childe. 

As  examples  of  the  bourgeois  tone,  as  Professor  Koel- 
bing  calls  it,1  one  may  notice  that  in  the  catalogue  of 
'  herbes  grete  and  smale '  which  spring  in  the  forest  is 
mentioned 

Notemuge  to  putte  in  ale, 

Whether  it  be  moyste  or  stale, 

Or  for  to  leye  in  cofre. 

So,  too,  when  Sir  Thopas  wished  to  swear  a  mighty  oath, 

He  swoor  on  ale  and  breed, 

How  that  '  the  geaunt  shal  be  deed, 

Bityde  what  bityde  I ' 

But  to  the  Host,  that  sturdy  dispenser  of  ale  and  wine, 
the  crowning  absurdity,  beyond  which  he  cannot  suffer 
the  tale  to  proceed  a  stanza,  is  the  statement :  — 

Himself  drank  water  of  the  wel, 
As  did  the  knight  Sir  Percivel. 

Let  him  disdain  the  use  of  a  roof,  if  he  please,  and 
1  '  Zu  Chaucer's  Sir  Thopas,'  Englisdie  Studien,  11.  495-511. 


THE  MONK'S  TALE  203 

'liggen  in  his  hode ; '  but  of  deliberate  choice  to  drink 
4  water  of  the  wel '  — 

'  No  more  of  this,  for  goddes  dignitee,' 
Quod  oure  hoste,  '  for  thou  makest  me 
So  wery  of  thy  verray  lewednesse 
That,  also  wisly  god  my  soule  blesse, 
Myn  eres  aken  of  thy  drasty  speche.' 

Under  this  rude  interruption  Chaucer  shows  an 
angelic  sweetness  of  temper.  It  is  the  best  rime  he 
knows ;  but  if  it  is  not  acceptable  to  the  company,  he 
will  tell  a  little  thing  in  prose.  From  the  standpoint 
of  the  modern  reader,  at  least,  Chaucer  more  than 
revenges  himself  by  inflicting  his  long  '  moral  tale  ver- 
tuous '  of  Melibeus. 

The  Tale  of  Melibeus  is  a  translation  of  a  French 
work  called  Le  livre  de  Melibee  et  de  dame  Prudence, 
which  is  in  its  turn  based  on  the  Liber  Con-  TheTaieot 
solationis  et  Consilii  of  Albertano  of  Bres-  Melibeus- 
cia,  who  died  soon  after  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  Dame  Prudence  gives  some  excellent  advice 
to  her  impulsive  husband,  Melibeus,  and,  to  adopt 
the  words  of  Tyrwhitt,  the  tale  '  was  probably  much 
esteemed  in  its  time ;  but  in  this  age  of  levity,  I  doubt 
some  readers  will  be  apt  to  regret  that  he  did  not  rather 
give  us  the  remainder  of  Sire  Thopas.'  Here  is  a  good 
opportunity  to  take  Chaucer  at  his  word,  when  he  says 
of  another  tale :  — 

And  therfore,  whoso  list  it  nat  yhere, 
Turne  over  the  leef,  and  chese  another  tale. 

THE  MONK'S  TALE 

The  modern  reader  has  doubtless  been  bored  by  the 
moralizing  tale  of  Melibeus,  if  indeed  he  has  not 
skipped  it  outright.  Not  so  the  honest  Host.  He  has 
your  true  middle-class  Englishman's  love  for  moraliz- 


204      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

ing,  if  not  for  morality.  Moreover,  the  tale  has  for  him 
a  special  and  personal  interest:  — 

Our  hoste  seyde,  '  as  I  am  faithful  man, 

And  by  the  precious  corpus  Madrian, 

I  hadde  lever  than  a  barel  ale 

That  goode  lief  my  wyf  hadde  herd  this  tale  ! ' 

She  is  no  Dame  Prudence  to  restrain  her  husband's 
wrath.  On  the  contrary,  she  is  a  sort  of  bourgeois  Lady 
Macbeth,  urging  on  her  husband  to  acts  of  violence ; 
while  in  her  ability  to  vilify  the  poor  man,  and  force 
him  to  do  her  will,  she  is  own  sister  to  the  Wife  of 
Bath.  She  will  make  him  slay  one  of  the  neighbors, 
and  bring  him  to  a  murderer's  death,  one  of  these  days, 
the  Host  predicts :  — 

'  For  I  am  perilous  with  knyf  in  honde, 
Al  be  it  that  I  dar  nat  hir  withstonde.' 

After  this  bit  of  realism,  which  serves  well  as  a  buffer 
between  the  rather  ponderous  '  tales '  which  precede 
and  follow,  the  Host  turns  to  my  lord  the  Monk,  and 
begins  to  rally  him  on  his  general  air  of  well-fed 
prosperity  and  physical  fitness.  From  such  a  sleek, 
comfortable-looking  gentleman,  the  Host  confidently 
expects  a  '  mery '  tale.  But  alas !  for  mine  Host's  dis- 
appointed hopes!  The  Monk  is  not,  like  the  reckless 
Pardoner,  a  man  who  can  suffer  his  dignity  to  lie  fallow 
for  a  season.  However  far  he  may  stray  from  the 
*  reule  of  Seint  Maure  or  of  Seint  Beneit,'  the  dignity 
of  his  person  and  his  rank  allow  no  unseemliness  or 
levity  of  speech.  In  his  own  cell,  surrounded  by  his 
fellow  monks,  with  a  plump  swan  and  a  good  bottle 
before  him,  his  fat  sides  may  have  shaken  often  enough 
with  laughter  at  a  merry  jest ;  but  no  such  relaxation 
is  convenient  in  the  promiscuous  company  of  the  Can- 
terbury Road.  With  unruffled  patience  he  hears  the 
Host  through  to  the  end,  suffering  his  free  familiarity 


THE  MONK'S  TALE  205 

and  scarcely  veiled  innuendo  to  pass  unanswered  and 
unnoticed. 

'  I  wol  doon  al  my  diligence. 
As  fer  as  sonneth  into  honestee, 
To  telle  yow  a  tale,  or  two,  or  three.' 

The  tales  he  offers  are  a  life  of  Edward  the  Confessor, 
or  a  series  of  '  tragedies,'  of  which  he  has  a  hundred  at 
home  in  his  cell.  Condescendingly  he  explains  to  the 
unlearned  that  — 

Tragedie  is  to  seyn  a  certeyn  storie, 
As  olde  bokes  maken  us  memorie, 
Of  him  that  stood  in  greet  prosperitee 
And  is  yfallen  out  of  heigh  degree 
Into  miserie,  and  endeth  wrecchedly. 

With  true  scholarly  spirit  he  apologizes  for  the  lack  of 
chronological  order  in  what  is  to  follow ;  with  a  self- 
depreciation  worthy  of  Matthew  Arnold  he  begs  to  be 
excused  for  his  ignorance  ;  and  then,  without  waiting 
to  see  whether  the  choice  is  going  to  be  acceptable, 
launches  into  his  weary  string  of  '  tragedies.' 

One  day,  as  the  sprightly  author  of  the  Decameron 
was  sitting  in  his  study,  he  was  visited  by  a  strange 
monk,  who  told  him  of  a  death-bed  vision,  in  . 

Sources. 

which  a  fellow  monk  had  seen  heaven  and 
hell  opened  before  him,  and  had  clearly  distinguished 
Giovanni  Boccaccio  among  those  dwelling  in  the  less  de- 
sirable of  these  mansions.  The  impressionable,  imagi- 
native nature  of  Boccaccio  was  so  deeply  moved  by  this 
gruesome  prophecy  that  he  was  at  first  determined  to 
burn  his  books,  and  devote  himself  to  a  life  of  religion  ; 
but  under  the  saner  counsels  of  his  friend  Petrarch, 
he  decided  instead  to  abandon  his  more  frivolous  com- 
positions, and  give  himself  to  the  study  of  classical 
philology.  Among  the  works  which  followed  on  this  so- 
called  conversion  is  one  entitled  De  Casibus  Virorum 


206      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

et  Feminarum  lllustrium,  a  sort  of  biographical  diction- 
ary, dealing  with  the  lives  of  those  who  had  stood  in 
great  prosperity  and  had  fallen  from  their  high  degree 
into  misery,  and  had  come  to  a  wretched  end.  Not  a 
very  pleasant  subject  for  a  book,  we  are  tempted  to  say ; 
but  the  subject  was  one  which  appealed  to  an  age 
intensely  interested  in  biography,  and  eagerly  craving 
the  excitement  of  tragic  downfalls.  During  the  period 
when  Chaucer  was  strongly  under  the  influence  of  Boc- 
caccio and  other  Italian  models,  —  the  exact  year  we 
cannot  determine,  —  he  seems  to  have  planned  a  similar 
work  in  his  own  English,  which  was  to  have  consisted 
of  a  hundred  *  tragedies,'  beginning  with  Lucifer  and 
Adam  and  extending  down  to  his  own  day  —  such  a 
work  as  his  disciple  Lydgate  accomplished  in  his  Fall 
of  Princes,  a  generation  later.  Fortunately,  we  think, 
this  work  was  one  of  the  many  which  Chaucer  planned 
and  started,  but  never  brought  to  completion.  He 
either  tired  of  it,  or  perhaps  came  soon  to  recognize 
that  the  work  was  not  worth  doing.  That  he  was  con- 
scious of  its  literary  badness  at  the  time  he  wrote  the 
Canterbury  Tales  is  shown  by  the  criticisms  showered 
upon  it  by  such  diverse  characters  as  the  Knight  and 
the  Host.  He  had,  however,  written  some  dozen  or 
thirteen  of  the  hundred  tragedies,  taking  up  his  subjects 
not  chronologically,  but  according  to  his  whim  and 
fancy  ;  and  when  he  came  to  construct  the  Canterbury 
Tales,  he  saw  a  chance  to  utilize  these  discarded  frag- 
ments, dramatically  so  appropriate  to  the  ponderous  dig- 
nity of  the  Monk,  while  at  the  same  time  indicating  his 
maturer  critical  judgment  as  to  their  literary  worth. 
He  added  four  new  paragraphs  dealing  with  contem- 
porary worthies,1  purposely  upset  the  chronological 

1  See  Skeat's  argument  to  prove  that  the  tragedies  of  Pedro  of  Spain, 
Pedro  of  Cyprus,  Barnaho,  and  Ugolino  are  of  later  date,  hi  the  Oxford 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  207 

order  to  conceal  the  incompleteness  of  the  series  and 
to  give  greater  naturalness  to  the  Monk's  narration, 
and  foisted  the  whole  off  upon  the  substantial  shoul- 
ders of  the  defenseless  Monk.  Here  is  a  thrifty  way 
of  disposing  of  one's  literary  bastards  !  In  composing 
the  several  sections,  Chaucer  had  recourse  not  only  to 
his  great  model,  Boccaccio,  but  to  the  Vulgate  Bible, 
to  Ovid,  Boethius,  Guido,  and  others,  the  tale  of  Ugo- 
lino  being  taken  bodily  from  the  thirty-third  canto  of 
Dante's  Inferno. 

A  discussion  of  the  literary  merit  of  these '  tragedies ' 
must  resemble  the  famous  chapter  on   the  snakes  of 
Ireland.    With  few  exceptions,  they  have  no 
literary  merit.   Apart  from  the  unspeakable  teen  Tra- 
monotony  of  the  series,  the  dry  epitomizing  gedies- 
character  of  the  individual  narrations  and  the  inevit- 
ably recurring  moral  make  them  intolerable.    The  one 
shining  exception  to  this  sweeping  condemnation  is  the 
tale  of  Ugolino,  a  splendid  bit  of  condensed  narrative, 
rich  in  pathos  and  true  tragic  power  ;  but  the  excel- 
lence of  this  piece  is  due  to  the  success  with  which  the 
author  has  reproduced  the  matchless  art  of  Dante. 

Before  leaving  the  tale,  one  may  pause  a  minute 
to  notice  the  eight-line  stanza  in  which  it  is  written, 
a  measure  which  Chaucer  had  used  in  his  very  early 
A.  B.  C.  This  stanza,  when  supplemented  by  an  ad- 
ditional alexandrine,  gives  us  the  Spenserian  stanza  of 
the  Faerie  Queene. 

THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE 

Not  only  the  Knight  who  interrupts  courteously 
and  the  Host  who  seconds  his  objection  more  roughly, 

Chaucer,  vol.  iii.  pp.  428-429.  The  account  of  Barnabo  deals  with  events 
•which  happened  in  1385,  which  is  the  latest  historical  allusion  con- 
tained in  the  Canterbury  Tales. 


208      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

but  the  whole  company  must  have  been  bored  to  death 
by  the  weary  string  of  dismal  'tragedies'  which 
the  Monk  has  thought  fit  to  narrate  on  this  sunny 
eighteenth  of  April.  The  Knight  objects  that  most 
people  care  for  but  '  litel  hevinesse ; '  it  is  pleasanter 
to  hear  of  men  who  from  poor  estate  have  attained  to 
great  and  lasting  prosperity.  The  Host  assures  the 
reverend  gentleman  that  such  talk  as  his  is  not  worth 
a  butterfly :  — 

'  For  sikerly,  nere  clinking  of  your  belles, 
That  on  your  brydel  hange  on  every  syde, 
By  heven  king,  that  for  us  alle  dyde, 
I  sholde  er  this  han  fallen  doun  for  slepe, 
Although  the  slough  had  never  been  so  depe.' 

We  poor  readers,  who  can  hear  this  merry  clinking 
of  the  bridle  bells  but  faintly  with  the  inner  ear  of 
imagination,  are  surely  to  be  forgiven  if  we  *  fallen 
doun  for  slepe '  before  the  '  tragedies '  are  half  recounted. 
However,  we  have,  by  way  of  compensation,  a  relief 
which  was  not  possible  to  the  pilgrims  —  the  blessed 
relief  of  skipping ;  boldly  turn  three  pages  at  once,  and 
we  reach  one  of  the  merriest  tales  that  ever  graced 
our  English  tongue. 

Neither  in  the  General  Prologue  nor  in  the  links 
which  fit  the  tale  into  its  framework  has  Chaucer  taken 
any  pains  to  characterize  the  '  gentil  Freest '  who  tells 
this  tale.  So  we  may  dismiss  him  without  ceremony, 
and  imagine  ourselves  face  to  face  with  Chaucer ;  his 
is  the  all-pervading  geniality  and  sly  elvish  humor  of 
this  sparkling  tale,  which  seems  part  and  parcel  of 
the  April  sunshine.  There  is  no  piece  of  all  Chaucer's 
writings  that  one  would  sooner  choose  to  set  before 
the  uninitiated  and  say,  'Here  is  the  Chaucer  whom 
we  love.'  Dull  must  he  be  of  soul  who  fails  to  become 
a  convert.  Here  is  the  vivid  delineation  of  scene,  the 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  209 

subtle  characterization,  the  infinite  ease  and  grace  of 
language  and  verse,  the  delicate  play  of  humor,  above 
all  the  fresh-hearted  gayety  and  eminent  sanity  to 
which  we  gladly  turn  when  wearied  out  with  the  more 
modern  poets  and  story-tellers  who  insistently  brood 
over  the  mystery  of  this  unintelligible  world,  as  the  pil- 
grims turned  from  the  weary  '  tragedies '  of  the  Monk. 
Let  no  one  suppose  that  our  present-day  fad  for  ani- 
mal stories,  wherein  only  too  often  an  entirely  respec- 
table dumb  beast  is  endowed  with  a  degree 
of  wishy-washy  sentimental] sm  which  even  a 
moderately  intelligent  human  being  would  be  ashamed 
of,  is  at  all  a  modern  discovery.  Far  in  the  '  dark 
backward  and  abysm  of  time,'  long  centuries  before  the 
authors  of  the  Jungle  Books  or  the  Brer  Fox  stories 
were  dreamed  of,  our  remote  ancestors  delighted  in 
stories  of  beasts  and  birds  who  spoke  and  acted  more 
or  less  like  men  and  women,  though  keeping  in  the 
main  the  frolic  wantonness  and  shrewd  cunning  of  the 
beast.  In  those  old  days,  I  suppose,  people  were  inter- 
ested in  animals  as  the  daily  companions  of  the  field, 
and  even  of  the  hearth  ;  to-day,  in  the  crowded  life  of 
our  cities,  we  are  interested  in  beasts  because  we  see 
so  little  of  them.  An  honest,  well-meaning  clergyman 
spends  a  summer  vacation  in  the  country,  and  armed 
with  opera-glass,  note-book,  and  abundant  sentiment, 
'discovers '  in  the  life  of  the  forest  a  far-seeing  wisdom, 
a  pathos,  a  tragedy,  with  which  he  fills  his  books  —  or 
lecture-halls  —  for  a  year  to  come.  From  this  so-called 
'  nature  study '  the  step  to  the  sentimental  animal  story 
is  inevitable.  I  do  not  mean  that  all  our  animal  stories 
are  so  written ;  I  could  name  at  least  three  writers  of 
such  tales  who  escape,  or  nearly  escape,  the  charge 
of  false  sentimentality ;  it  is  the  great  army  of  their 
imitators  —  but  enough  of  this. 


210      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Any  one  who  will  venture  into  the  labyrinthine  dis- 
cussions of  the  folklorists  will  find  abundant  proof 
that  stories  not  unlike  the  central  episode  of  the  cock 
and  fox  in  Chaucer's  tale  have  been  told  since  the  ear- 
liest times  in  all  countries  of  the  world,  from  darkest 
Africa  to  farthest  Inde.  Tales  of  the  fireside  soon  find 
their  way  into  literature,  when  literature  has  once  ap- 
peared, and  so  it  was  with  these  popular  stories  of  the 
beast  and  bird.  There  have  been  in  the  past  two  main 
forms  of  the  animal  story :  the  JEsopian  fable,  written 
by  a  moralizer  who  sought  to  give  new  effectiveness  to  a 
familiar  bit  of  practical  wisdom  ;  and  the  animal  epic, 
the  great  representative  of  which  is  Reynard  the  Fox, 
written,  in  its  later  form  at  least,  by  a  satirist  who 
wished  to  make  fun  of  men  and  women  under  the  con- 
venient guise  of  animals,  at  whom  any  one  may  laugh 
without  fear  of  the  censor.  Of  these  two  literary  forms, 
that  of  the  fable  is  the  simpler  and  apparently  the 
earlier.  I  need  not  characterize  it;  every  one  knows 
his  JEtSOp ;  but  it  is  interesting  to  see  how  the  germ 
of  Chaucer's  tale  appears  in  fable  setting.  Here  is  a 
translation  of  a  Latin  fable  from  the  early  Middle 
Ages,  one  of  a  collection  which  goes  under  the  name 
of  Romulus : l  — 

A  Cock  was  walking  up  and  down  on  the  dunghill, 
when  a  Fox,  seeing  him,  came  near,  and  sitting  down 
before  him,  broke  in  with  these  words :  '  I  never  saw 
a  fowl  equal  to  you  in  good  looks,  nor  one  who  deserved 
more  praise  for  the  sweetness  of  his  voice,  save  only 
your  father.  He,  when  he  wanted  to  sing  louder  than 
usual,  used  to  shut  his  eyes.'  The  Cock,  who  was  a 
great  lover  of  praise,  did  as  the  Fox  suggested ;  he 

1  A  verse  translation  of  Marie  de  France's  later  but  more  artistic 
version  of  this  fable  is  given  by  Professor  Skeat  in  the  Oxford  Chaucer, 
vol.  iii,  p.  432. 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  211 

shut  his  eyes,  and  began  to  sing  with  a  loud  voice. 
Immediately  the  Fox  made  a  rush  at  him,  and  turned 
his  song  into  sadness  by  hurrying  off  to  the  woods 
with  the  singer.  There  happened  to  be  shepherds  in 
the  field,  and  they  began  to  chase  the  Fox  with  dogs 
and  with  great  outcry.  Then  the  Cock  said  to  the  Fox : 
'  Tell  them  that  I  belong  to  you,  and  that  this  robbery 
is  none  of  their  business.'  But  when  the  Fox  began  to 
speak,  the  Cock  dropped  from  his  mouth,  and  by  the 
aid  of  his  wings  soon  found  refuge  in  the  top  of  a  tree. 
Then  the  Fox  said,  '  Woe  to  him  who  speaks  when 
he  had  better  be  silent.'  And  the  Cock  answered  him 
from  the  tree,  '  Woe  to  him  who  closes  his  eyes  when 
he  had  better  keep  them  open.' 1 

French  and  German  scholars  have  not  yet  finished 
fighting  out  the  question  to  which  nationality  belongs 
the  honor  of  originating  the  great  animal  epic  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  in  which  King  Noble  the  lion,  Bruin  the 
bear,  Grimbald  the  wolf,  and  the  other  animals  hold 
their  parliaments,  and  issue  their  decrees  for  the  sup- 
pression of  Reynard  the  fox,  hero  of  this  '  vulpiad,'  who 
manages  by  his  cleverness  to  outwit  them  all.  The  epic 
of  Reynard,  as  we  have  it  in  French  and  German,  and 
in  the  other  tongues  into  which  it  was  translated,2  is 
not  the  work  of  any  single  author  or  single  age.  Like 
the  great  cathedral  buildings  of  England,  the  original 
fabric  was  freely  added  to  and  elaborated,  any  animal 
fable  tending  to  get  itself  incorporated  into  this  most 
popular  of  poems.  The  story  of  the  cock  and  the  fox 
is  found  both  in  the  French  Roman  de  Renart  and  in 
the  German  Relnecke  Fuchs ;  but  neither  can  have 
been  Chaucer's  immediate  source.  Miss  Kate  Petersen, 

1  I  have  followed  the  Latin  text  given  by  Miss  Petersen :    On  the 
Sources  of  the  Nonne  Prestes  Tale,  Boston,  1898,  pp.  3-6. 
3  The  first  English  translation  was  made  by  Caxton  in  1481. 


212      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

who  has  examined  the  matter  most  carefully,  concludes 
that  Chaucer  follows  a  version  of  the  epic  now  lost  to 
us,  which  was  nearer  to  the  German  Reinecke  than  to 
the  French  Renart.  By  comparing  Chaucer's  version 
with  these  two,  and  making  allowances  for  what  may 
have  been  Chaucer's  independent  changes  and  addi- 
tions, she  ingeniously  reconstructs  what  must  have  been 
the  main  details  of  the  version  Chaucer  used.  This 
reconstructed  version  I  shall  reproduce  here  as  a  basis 
for  comparison  with  the  Nun's  Priest's  Tale.1 

Beside  a  grove  dwells  a  woman  somewhat  advanced 
in  years,  content  with  her  property  and  with  her  pro- 
vision of  grain  and  bacon.  Within  her  yard,  protected 
by  fence  and  hedge,  she  keeps  a  cock  named  Chante- 
cler  and  a  number  of  hens,  the  best  of  which  is  named 
Pinte.  One  day  at  sunrise  the  fox,  full  of  tricks,  comes 
after  Chantecler,  but  finds  the  fence  too  strong  for 
him.  At  last,  however,  he  pulls  out  a  slat  with  his 
teeth,  and  crawls  through  the  hedge  into  a  heap  of 
cabbages,  where  he  lies  hidden.  Pinte  perceives  his 
presence,  and  calling  out  to  Chantecler,  who  is  asleep, 
she  and  her  companions  fly  up  on  a  beam.  Chantecler 
comes  up  proudly,  assures  the  hens  that  they  are  quite 
safe  in  this  yard,  and  bids  them  return  to  their  former 
place.  He  then  tells  Pinte  that  he  has  had  a  bad  dream 
in  which  he  saw  a  reddish  beast ;  is  it  any  wonder  that 
he  is  distressed  and  full  of  apprehension  ?  May  heaven 
interpret  the  dream  aright !  Here,  perhaps,  Pinte  offers 
some  interpretation  of  the  dream.  Chantecler  makes  a 
reply  in  which  he  scoffs  at  dreams  and  makes  humorous 

l  On  the  Sources  of  the  Nonne  Prestes  Tale,  Radcliff e  College  Mono- 
graphs, No.  10,  Boston,  1898.  (In  reproducing  her  hypothetical  ver- 
sion of  the  tale,  I  take  some  liberties  with  her  language.)  This  study 
supersedes  the  discussion  of  sources  given  in  Originals  and  Analogues, 
pp.  111-128,  though  the  French  texts  there  given  are  useful  for  con- 
sultation. 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  213 

remarks  about  women.  Summoning  up  his  courage,  he 
defies  the  dream. 

A  little  before  noon,  Chantecler,  unaware  of  the  fox, 
flies  nearer  to  the  place  where  he  is  lurking,  and  on 
first  seeing  him,  starts  to  flee.  But  the  fox  begs  Chan- 
tecler not  to  flee  from  a  friend.  Have  not  their  families 
always  been  on  friendly  terms  ?  He  praises  the  singing 
of  Chantecler's  father,  who  used  to  sing  with  closed 
eyes.  Why  should  not  Chantecler  try  to  imitate  him  ? 
Chantecler,  too  rash  to  perceive  his  folly,  begins  to  beat 
his  wings,  and  to  sing  with  closed  eyes.  Upon  this  the 
fox  seizes  him  by  the  throat  and  runs  for  the  wood, 
while  Pinte  and  the  other  hens  lament  their  loss. 
The  woman  comes  at  the  cry  of  the  hens,  and  seeing 
the  fox  with  Chantecler  in  his  mouth  cries,  '  Harrow !  * 
Every  one  pursues  the  fox.  The  dog  is  let  loose.  But 
Chantecler,  in  all  his  peril,  prompts  the  fox  to  utter 
words  of  defiance  to  his  pursuers.  The  fox  opens  his 
mouth,  whereupon  the  cock  escapes  and  flies  into  a 
tree.  The  cock  assures  the  fox  that  the  adventure  shall 
not  be  repeated.  The  fox  invokes  shame  upon  the 
mouth  that  speaks  out  of  season ;  and  Chantecler  says, 
'Misfortune  come  upon  him  who  shuts  his  eyes  at 
the  wrong  time.' 

Though  the  point  of  this  tale  is  the  same  as  that  of 
the  Latin  fable,  we  find  the  characters  supplied  with 
definite  habitation  and  with  names,  while  the  story  is 
elaborated  by  the  introduction  of  a  new  episode,  that 
of  the  premonitory  dream,  and  by  some  attempt  at  char- 
acterization. Chaucer,  in  utilizing  this  story,  has  made 
some  changes  in  detail  —  the  appearance  of  the  fox  is 
deferred  until  later  in  the  story,  when  his  part  in  the 
action  is  to  be  important,  distinctly  improving  the 
structure  of  the  narrative ;  he  has  greatly  elaborated 
the  discussion  of  the  dream,  giving  the  skeptical  atti- 


214      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

tude  to  Pertelote  rather  than  Chanticleer ;  and  he  has 
immensely  heightened  the  description  and  characteriza- 
tion. In  this  way,  what  was  originally  a  fireside  story 
has  become  first  a  literary  fable,  then  a  developed  nar- 
rative, and  lastly  a  work  of  art. 

Chaucer's  first  care  in  retelling  the  old  story  was  to 
give  heightened  color  and  realism  to  his  background. 
Chaucer's  He  goes  out  into  the  country  and  paints  a 
Version.  peasant's  cottage,  such  as  must  have  been 
matter  of  common  experience  to  the  readers  of  his  own 
day  —  the  simple  house  of  two  rooms,  with  its  sooty 
'  hall  *  serving  as  kitchen,  living-room,  hen-house,  barn, 
and  pig-sty,  and  the  smaller  *  bower '  where  slept  the 
widow  and  her  daughters.  We  are  given  a  view  of  the 
every-day  peasant  life,  its  hard  work  and  meagre  fare, 
its  narrowing  interests ;  all  this  serving  as  a  sharp  con- 
trast to  the  lordly  elegance  and  wide  intellectual  scope 
of  Chanticleer.  Still,  it  is  not  an  unhappy  life  that 
Chaucer  shows;  if  the  widow's  board  is  but  plainly 
furnished  forth,  she  has  as  recompense  a  good  diges- 
tion: — 

The  goute  lette  hir  nothing  for  to  daunce, 

N'  apoplexye  shente  nat  hir  heed. 

Best  of  all,  she  has  that  'hertes  suffisaunce*  which 
makes  any  life  worth  the  living.  Once  again,  later  in 
the  tale,  the  peasant  life  reasserts  itself,  when  the 
widow,  her  daughters,  the  neighbors,  and  all  the  ani- 
mals of  the  farm  in  wild  bedlam  join  in  the  hue  and 
cry  after  the  marauding  fox.  Both  these  pictures  have 
all  the  vividness  and  realism  of  a  Dutch  genre  paint- 
ing by  Teniers  or  Gerard  Dou. 

A  greater  achievement  than  this  is  the  creation  of 
Chanticleer,  a  character  which  is  real  and  interesting, 
while  remaining  still  a  rooster,  at  the  same  time  human 
and  galline.  To  accomplish  this,  Chaucer  has  seized 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  215 

on  the  trait  of  character  which  is  in  a  rooster  most 
human  and  in  a  man  most  galline,  the  quality  which 
the  two  species  share  in  common — egotism,  personal 
vanity,  in  a  word,  the  strut.  This  is  the  quality  which 
mankind  agrees  in  attributing  to  the  rooster  as  a  type ; 
doubtless  a  rooster  poet  would  attribute  the  same  qual- 
ity to  man.  This  is  the  trait  of  character  which  in  the 
old  fable  leads  to  Chanticleer's  downfall,  when  the  fox 
cozens  him  with  his  pretty  obvious  flattery ;  this  is  pre- 
eminently the  quality  of  the  domestic  tyrant.  So  that 
it  is  without  any  sense  of  incongruity  that  we  see  the 
two  types  coalesce. 

Chanticleer,  as  he  is  first  described  to  us,  is  only  a 
superlative  rooster,  superlative  in  his  crowing,  superla- 
tive in  his  galline  beauty :  — 

In  al  the  land  of  crowing  nas  his  peer. 

His  vois  was  merier  than  the  mery  orgon 

On  messe-dayes  that  in  the  chirche  gon; 

Wei  sikerer  was  his  crowing  in  his  logge, 

Than  is  a  clokke,  or  an  abbey  orlogge. 

By  nature  knew  he  ech  ascencioun 

Of  equinoxial  in  thilke  toun ; 

For  whan  degrees  fif  tene  were  ascended, 

Thanne  crew  he,  that  it  mighte  nat  ben  amended. 

From  this  it  is  an  easy  step  to  the  singing  of  a  song 
with  words :  — 

But  such  a  joye  was  it  to  here  hem  singe, 
Whan  that  the  brighte  sonne  gan  to  springe, 
In  swete  accord,  'my  lief  is  faren  in  londe.' 

This  is  followed  up  by  an  offhand  statement :  — 

For  thilke  tyme,  as  I  have  understonde, 
Bestes  and  briddes  coude  speke  and  singe. 

We  accept  this  statement  readily  enough,  as  a  neces- 
sary condition  of  animal  stories.  But  if  animals  can 
talk,  they  can  also  have  dreams.  So  bit  by  bit  we  are 
led  into  the  plausible  impossibility  of  the  conjugal 


216      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

dispute,  with  all  its  display  of  erudition  and  dialec- 
tics. 

Dame  Partlet  becomes  the  typical  housewife,  kindly 
solicitous  of  her  husband's  welfare,  even  though  she 
reproach  him  for  his  faint  heart,  — 

'  Have  ye  no  inannes  herte,  and  ban  a  berd  ?  ' 

unwilling  of  course  to  accept  his  explanation  of  the 
dream,  confident  in  the  superiority  of  her  own  wisdom 
and  in  the  efficacy  of  her  own  homely  remedies.  Was 
there  ever  a  wife  who  did  not  love  to  prescribe  from 
her  medicine  chest,  or  ever  a  husband  who  did  not  pro- 
test that  medicine  was  quite  unnecessary  ?  She  is  even 
ready  to  humor  her  husband's  weakness  for  pedantry, 
quotes  to  him  from  one  of  his  own  authors,  enters  at 
length  into  a  scientific  explanation  of  dreams.  She  has 
not  lived  with  the  learned  Chanticleer  for  nothing.  As 
for  the  cock,  he  is  your  typical  pedant  and  egotist.  He 
is  proud  of  his  voice,  of  his  learning,  and  of  his  immense 
superiority  to  his  wives,  whose  company  he  enjoys  be- 
cause of  his  superiority.  With  what  evident  self-satis- 
faction he  quotes  an  uncomplimentary  Latin  proverb, 
which  he  translates  wrongly,  deliciously  conscious  that 
his  playful  fraud  cannot  be  detected :  — 

'  For  also  siker  as  In  principio, 
Mulier  est  hominis  confusio;  * 
Madame,  the  sentence  of  this  Latin  is  — 
Womman  is  maunes  joye  and  al  his  blis.' 

His  wife  ventures  to  quote  the  authority  of  Cato 
that  dreams  are  not  to  be  regarded.  Very  well,  if  she 
wants  authorities,  she  shall  have  them  ;  and  he  proceeds 
to  bury  her  volumes  deep  under  his  accumulated  lore. 
She  ought  to  know  that  a  woman  can't  argue.  But  if 

1  The  phrase  '  In  principio '  begins  the  book  of  Genesis  and  the  Gos- 
pel of  St.  John,  in  the  Vulgate.  '  It  is  as  true  as  the  Bible  that  woman 
is  man's  confusion.' 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  217 

Chanticleer  is  pedant  and  egotist,  he  is  nevertheless  a 
kindly  soul,  and  we  cannot  but  like  him. 

However  learnedly  Chanticleer  may  discourse,  how- 
ever human  he  may  seem  in  his  petty  domestic  tyran- 
nies, Chaucer  never  suffers  us  quite  to  forget  that  he 
is  but  a  rooster  and  that  Dame  Partlet  is  but  a  hen. 
Were  we  to  forget,  the  delicious  humor  of  the  situ- 
ation would  be  lost.  This  end  Chaucer  attains  by  con- 
stantly recurring  to  distinctly  galline  traits.  After 
displaying  her  complete  acquaintance  with  the  materia 
medica,  and  assuring  her  husband  that  the  herbs  neces- 
sary 

'  To  purgen  yow  binethe,  and  eek  above ' 

are  growing  right  there  in  the  yard,  she  bids  him 

'  Pekke  hem  up  right  as  they  growe,  and  ete  hem  ID.' 

So,  too,  when  the  long  debate  is  ended,  the  rooster 
nature  reasserts  itself :  — 

And  with  that  word  he  fley  doun  fro  the  beem, 
For  it  was  day,  and  eek  his  hennes  alle  ; 
And  with  a  chnk  he  gan  hem  for  to  calle, 
For  he  had  founde  a  corn,  lay  in  the  yerd. 
Royal  he  was,  he  was  namore  aferd. 


He  loketh  as  it  were  a  grim  leoun ; 
And  on  his  toos  he  rometh  up  and  doun, 
Him  deyned  not  to  sette  his  foot  to  grounde. 

The  beautiful  bubble  of  pride  and  lordliness  is 
pricked  to  nothing  by  the  clever  stratagem  of  Daun 
Russel  the  fox,  and  his  ignominious  rape  of  Chanti- 
cleer. That  the  airy  fabric  of  the  tale  may  not  fall  too 
suddenly  to  ground,  Chaucer  has  recourse  to  the  mock 
heroic.  The  marauding  fox  is  apostrophized  as 

O  newe  Scariot,  newe  Genilonf 

False  dissimilour,  O  Greek  Sinon, 

That  broghtest  Troye  al  outrely  to  sorwe! 


218      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

There  is  learned  discussion  of  free-will  and  God's  fore- 
knowledge, as  one  might  debate  the  reason  of  a  prince's 
fall.  The  outcry  of  the  widowed  hens  is  compared 
to  the  lamentations  of  the  Trojan  ladies  when  Ilion 
was  won,  to  the  shrieks  of  *  Hasdrubales  wyf,'  to  the 
wailing  of  the  senators'  wives  when  Nero  burned  impe- 
rial Rome.  It  takes  all  the  wild  hubbub  of  shouting 
rustics,  barking  dogs,  and  quacking  geese  to  bring 
us  back  again  to  the  realization  that  all  this  mighty 
action  has  been  transacted  in  a  poor  widow's  barnyard, 
and  that  its  protagonists  are  but  a  cock  and  a  fox. 

The  rest  of  the  story,  which  now  follows  the  lines 
of  the  old  fable,  is  disposed  of  quickly ;  the  moral  is 
pointed,  and  thus  is  ended  Chaucer's  tale  of  Chanti- 
cleer. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUPS  C  AND  D 

THE  PHYSICIAN'S  TALE 

THE  Physician's  Tale  begins  a  new  group  of  tales, 
and  Chaucer  has  provided  it  with  no  prologue  by  way 
of  introduction.  The  portrait  of  this  doctor  of  physio 
given  in  the  General  Prologue  is  allowed  to  stand  as 
our  sole  information  about  the  character  which,  judged 
from  a  modern  standpoint,  has  in  it  more  of  the  quack 
than  of  the  reputable  practitioner.  Neither  is  the  tale 
which  Chaucer  assigns  to  the  man  of  medicine  partic- 
ularly appropriate  to  him.  One  cannot  refrain  a  smile 
at  Ten  Brink's  ingenious  suggestion  that  its  '  desperate, 
bloody  ending '  is  '  appropriate  to  the  character  of  the 
Doctor  and  his  professional  acquaintance  with  violent 
remedies.'  One  may  notice,  too,  that  Virginia's  allusion 
to  the  daughter  of  Jephthah  gives  the  lie  to  the  state- 
ment of  the  General  Prologue  that 

His  studie  was  but  litel  on  the  bible. 

Chaucer  had  apparently  written  the  story  with  another 
purpose  in  view,  perhaps  with  the  intention  of  incor- 
porating it  into  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  and 
finding  it  in  his  desk  drawer,  determined,  with  his 
accustomed  literary  thrift,  to  turn  it  to  account  in  the 
Canterbury  Tales.  If  not  particularly  appropriate,  it 
is  not  markedly  inappropriate.  Possibly  the  digression 
on  the  proper  bringing  up  of  daughters  may  have  been 
inserted  as  suitable  to  the  Doctor  in  his  capacity  of 
family  adviser. 


220      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

One  who  was  not  familiar  with  Chaucer's  literary 
methods  would  immediately  assume  from  the  explicit 
statement  of  the  first  line  that  the  source  of 
the  tale  was  Titus  Livius.  Livy's  history  is, 
of  course,  the  ultimate  source  ;  but  the  most  hasty  read- 
ing of  the  Latin  story  will  show  a  wide  divergence.  In 
Livy,  Virginius,  on  hearing  the  unjust  sentence,  imme- 
diately snatches  up  a  knife,  and  without  any  pause 
buries  it  in  his  daughter's  breast.  This  is  more  natural 
and  less  revolting  than  the  deliberate  deed  of  Chaucer's 
Virginius.  The  rather  barbarous  episode  of  the  head 
sent  to  Appius  on  a  charger  is  also  absent  from  Livy's 
narrative.  Chaucer  did  not  make  these  changes  him- 
self ;  for  in  dealing  with  themes  from  antique  history 
he  is  usually  chary  of  alteration.  The  tale  explicitly 
says : — 

This  is  no  fable, 

•      But  knowen  for  historial  thing  notable, 
The  sentence  of  it  sooth  is,  out  of  doute. 

Moreover,  though  the  change  makes  possible  the  affect- 
ing dialogue  between  Virginia  and  her  father,  which  is 
the  emotional  climax  of  the  tale,  it  involves,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  certain  untruth  to  nature  as  compared  with 
Livy's  treatment.  The  truth  is  that  Chaucer  did  not 
go  to  Livy  at  all.  Indeed,  we  have  no  proof  that  Livy 
was  any  more  than  a  name  to  him.  The  outline  of  the 
story,  and  the  ascription  of  it  to  Livy,  are  taken  directly 
from  that  great  storehouse  of  story,  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose.  Jean  de  Meun's  narrative  is  not  long,  and  since 
a  comparison  of  it  with  Chaucer's  tale  serves  well  to 
show  the  latter's  literary  methods,  I  shall  translate  the 
passage  entire.1 

1  The  story  occupies  lines  5613-5682  of  Meon's  edition  of  the  Roman 
de  la  Hose.  Skeat  has  reprinted  the  passag-e  in  the  Oxford  Chaucer, 
vol.  3.  pp.  435-437.  I  have  made  my  translation  from  his  text. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  TALE  221 

Did  not  Appius  well  deserve  to  hang,  who  made  his 
servant  undertake,  by  means  of  false  witnesses,  a  false 
quarrel  against  the  maiden  Virginia,  who  was  daugh- 
ter to  Virginius,  as  saith  Titus  Livius,  who  knows  well 
how  to  relate  the  case  ?  This  he  did  because  he  could 
not  have  mastery  over  the  maiden,  who  cared  not  for 
him,  nor  for  his  lust.  The  false  churl  said  in  audience : 
*  Sir  judge,  give  sentence  for  me,  for  the  maid  is  mine ; 
I  will  prove  her  for  my  slave  against  all  men  living :  for 
soon  after  she  was  born,  she  was  taken  from  my  house 
and  given  in  keeping  to  Virginius,  where  she  has  been 
brought  up.  Therefore  I  demand  of  you,  Sir  Appius, 
that  you  deliver  me  my  slave,  for  it  is  right  that  she 
serve  me,  and  not  him  who  has  brought  her  up ;  and  if 
Virginius  denies  this,  I  am  all  ready  to  prove  it,  for 
I  can  find  good  witnesses  of  the  fact.'  Thus  spake 
the  false  traitor,  who  was  a  retainer  of  the  false  judge ; 
and  when  the  plea  had  gone  thus  far,  before  Virgin- 
ius, who  was  all  ready  to  reply  and  confound  his  adver- 
saries, had  spoken,  Appius  gave  hasty  judgment  that 
without  delay  the  maiden  should  be  returned  to  the 
churl.  And  when  the  good  gentleman  before  named, 
good  knight  and  well-renowned,  that  is  to  say,  Vir- 
ginius, heard  this  thing,  and  saw  well  that  he  could 
not  defend  his  daughter  against  Appius,  but  that  he 
would  be  forced  to  give  her  up  and  deliver  her  body 
over  to  shame,  he  chose  injury  rather  than  shame,  by  a 
wonderful  determination,  if  Titus  Livius  lies  not.  For 
in  love,  and  without  malice,  he  straightway  cut  off  the 
head  of  his  beautiful  daughter  Virginia  and  presented 
it  to  the  judge  before  all  men  in  full  consistory ;  and  the 
judge,  as  the  story  says,  straightway  gave  order  that 
he  be  taken  and  led  away  to  be  slain  or  hanged.  But 
he  neither  slew  him  nor  hanged  him,  for  the  people 
defended  him,  being  moved  to  great  pity  as  soon  as  the 


222      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

deed  was  known ;  then,  for  this  evil  deed,  Appius  was 
put  in  prison,  and  there  quickly  slew  himself  before 
the  day  of  his  trial ;  and  Claudius,  who  had  challenged 
the  maiden,  was  sentenced  to  death  as  a  malefactor ;  but 
Virginius,  taking  pity  on  him,  won  a  reprieve  for  him, 
making  suit  to  the  people  that  he  should  be  sent  into 
exile,  and  all  were  condemned  and  put  to  death  who 
were  witnesses  in  the  case. 

What  Chaucer  has  done  is  to  reproduce  this  narrative 
with  substantial  fidelity,  heightening  its  effectiveness 
Chaucer's  somewhat  by  a  freer  use  of  direct  discourse, 
version.  while  adding  of  his  own  fantasy  two  long 
original  passages,  which  serve  to  change  entirely  the 
artistic  emphasis  of  the  tale.  These  passages  are  the 
charming  description  of  Virginia's  maidenly  loveliness, 
with  the  digression  on  the  bringing  up  of  daughters, 
and  the  infinitely  pathetic  scene  in  which  Virginia 
learns  her  father's  purpose,  and  herself  chooses  death 
rather  than  shame.  Beside  the  wonderful  effectiveness 
of  these  two  passages,  the  narrative  portions  sink  into 
insignificance,  or  rather  serve  as  a  mere  framework 
for  the  picture  of  Virginia's  spotless  purity.  In  the 
French  it  is  the  unjust  judge  and  his  righteous  pun- 
ishment that  receive  chief  emphasis ;  with  Chaucer,  the 
personality  of  Virginia  dominates  the  whole.  The  nar- 
rative is  not  slighted ;  it  is  merely  subordinated ;  and 
the  memory  of  the  reader  lingers  fondly  on  the  maid 
who 

Floured  in  virginitee 
With  alle  humilitee  and  abstinence. 

THE  PARDONER'S  TALE 

The  Host  has  been  so  wrought  upon  by  the  pathos 
of  the  Physician's  tale  of  Virginia,  that  he  feels  it  abso- 
lutely essential  to  his  physical  well-being  that  he  hear  a 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE  223 

*  mery  tale.'  With  a  delicate  touch  of  satire,  the  author 
makes  him  turn  to  the  Pardoner  as  one  most  likely  to 
satisfy  this  need.  The  Pardoner  is  ready  enough  with 
his  assent;  but  the  company  has  reached  a  wayside 
tavern,  whose  'ale-stake,'  crowned  with  its  garland, 
projects  far  over  the  muddy  road,  and  the  physical 
well-being  of  the  Pardoner  demands  that  he  stop  long 
enough  to  drink  a  draught  of  corny  ale  and  eat  a  cake. 
The  '  gentles  '  of  the  company,  however,  know  only  too 
well  what  to  expect  when  a  pardoner  undertakes  to  tell 
a  '  mery  tale.'  *  Let  him  tell  us  no  ribaldry,'  they  cry. 

'  Tel  us  som  moral  thing,  that  we  may  lere 
Som  wit,  and  thanne  wol  we  gladly  here.' 

Ready  complaisance  is  part  of  the  Pardoner's  stock  in 
trade. 

'  I  graunte,  y wis,'  quod  he,  '  but  I  mot  thinke 
Upon  som  honest  thing,  whyl  that  I  drinke.' 

Things  honest  and  of  good  report  proceed  from  a  par- 
doner's lips  only  as  the  result  of  meditation. 

The  Pardoner  is,  of  course,  a  dreadful  hypocrite ;  but 
his  hypocrisy  is  a  part  of  his  profession  merely,  and  he 
is  now  on  a  vacation.  He  is  an  honest  hypocrite,  at  least 
in  so  far  as  he  does  not  deceive  himself,  nor  try  to  pass 
himself  for  a  holy  man  'among  friends.'  As  he  sits 
and  quaffs  his  corny  ale  and  surveys  his  fellow  voy- 
agers, his  tongue  is  loosened,  and  in  a  spirit  partly  of 
bravado,  but  more,  I  think,  with  an  artist's  natural 
pride  in  his  art,  he  begins  to  give  away  some  of  the 
secrets  of  his  trade.  '  Here,  in  this  company,  you  see,  I 
am  a  very  unassuming,  good-natured  fellow ;  but  when 
I  preach  in  church,  I  take  pains  to  assume  a  haughty 
manner  of  speech,  and  put  in  a  word  of  Latin  here 
and  there  "  to  saffron  with  my  predicacioun."  I  show 
my  relics  —  they  are  really  only  rags  and  bones  —  I 


224      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

preach  always  on  the  sin  of  avarice,  so  that  my  hear- 
ers may  give  the  larger  offering.  In  this  way  I  win  a 
hundred  marks  *  a  year.' 

The  Pardoner's  reason  for  giving  this  frank  account 
of  his  own  hypocrisies  I  take  to  have  been  something 
like  this.  '  I  am  not  really  a  moral  man,'  he  implies, 
*  and  I  do  not  intend  to  take  the  trouble  of  keeping  up 
appearances  on  this  journey ;  but  it  is  my  business  to 
give  moral  discourses,  and  since  you  insist  on  having 
a  moral  tale,  I  will  give  you  an  example  of  my  pulpit 
oratory.' 

'  For,  though  myself  be  a  ful  vicious  man, 
A  moral  tale  yet  I  yow  telle  can, 
Which  I  am  wont  to  preche,  for  to  winne. 
Now  holde  your  pees,  my  tale  I  wol  beginne.' 

The  sermon  which  follows  on  this  preamble  consists 
of  a  highly  dramatic  story,  which  is  interrupted  after 
a  few  lines  by  a  long  discussion  on  the  sins  of  swear- 
ing, gluttony,  dicing,  and  other  of  the  deadly  sins,  and 
only  continued  after  an  interval  of  some  hundred  and 
sixty  lines.  This  discussion  contains  several  touches  of 
humor ;  but  our  main  attention  must  be  occupied  with 
the  story  itself. 

The  immediate  source  of  the  Pardoner's  Tale,  which 

may  have  been  some  fabliau  now  lost,  is  not  known  to 

us ;  but  the  story  in  its  main  features  is  one 

of   great  antiquity  and  wide   dissemination. 

The  earliest  form  of  the  tale  which  has  been  discovered 

is  in  an  old  Hindoo  collection  of  tales,  and  bears  the  title 

VedabWia  Jdtaka.  Other  versions  are  found  in  Persian, 

Arabic,  Kashmiri,  and  Tibetan.    From  the  Orient  the 

tale  was  brought  to  Europe,  where  versions  are  found 

in  Italian,  German,  French,  Portuguese,  and  Latin.* 

1  Equivalent  to  at  least  seven  hundred  pounds  of  modern  money. 

2  See  Originals  and  Analogues  of  Some  of  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales^ 
pp.  129-134,  415-436. 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE  225 

The  latest  appearance  of  the  story  is  found  in  the  tale  of 
The  King's  Ankus,  in  Kipling's  Second  Jungle  Book. 
The  version  which  bears  closest  resemblance  to  Chau- 
cer's is  found  in  the  1572  edition  of  the  Cento  Novelle 
Antiche,  a  collection  of  tales  which  probably  antedates 
Boccaccio.  This  tale  is  in  itself  so  well  told,  and  fur- 
nishes so  interesting  a  comparison  with  Chaucer,  that 
I  shall  translate  it  entire. 

Here,  is  the  story  of  a  hermit,  who  as  he  was  walk- 
ing through  a  forest,  found  very  great  treasure. 

Walking  one  day  through  a  forest,  a  Hermit  found  a 
large  cave  which  was  well  concealed,  and  betaking  him- 
self thither  —  for  he  was  very  weary  —  as  he  reached  the 
cave,  he  beheld  in  a  certain  place  a  great  gleaming ; 
for  there  was  much  gold  there.  Now  as  soon  as  he  saw 
what  it  was,  incontinently  he  went  away,  and  began  to 
run  through  the  desert  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  As  he 
was  running  thus,  the  Hermit  came  upon  three  great 
robbers,  who  had  taken  their  stand  in  this  forest  to  rob 
whosoever  should  pass  there.  But  never  as  yet  had  they 
learned  that  this  gold  was  there.  Now  as  they  stood 
concealed,  and  saw  this  man  fleeing  so,  who  had  no 
one  behind  to  pursue  him,  they  were  at  first  somewhat 
afeard ;  but,  notwithstanding,  they  accosted  him  to 
know  why  he  fled,  for  of  this  they  marveled  greatly. 
He  answered  and  said :  '  My  brothers,  I  flee  death, 
who  comes  after  me,  pursuing  me.'  They,  seeing  neither 
man  nor  beast  that  pursued  him,  said :  '  Show  us  who 
pursues  thee,  and  lead  us  where  this  death  is.'  Then 
the  Hermit  said  to  them,  '  Come  with  me,  and  I  will 
show  you  him  ; '  but  he  begged  them  in  every  way  that 
they  should  not  seek  death,  forasmuch  as  he  for  his 
part  was  fleeing  him.  And  they,  wishing  to  find  death, 
to  see  after  what  fashion  he  was  made,  asked  him 
nothing  else.  The  Hermit  seeing  that  he  could  not  do 


226      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

otherwise,  and  being  in  fear,  conducted  them  to  the  cave 
whence  he  had  departed,  and  said  to  them,  'Here  is 
death  which  pursued  me,'  and  showed  them  the  gold 
that  was  there ;  and  incontinently  they  knew  what  it 
was,  and  they  began  to  be  exceeding  joyful,  and  to  make 
great  solace  together.  Then  they  dismissed  this  good 
man,  and  he  went  away  about  his  own  business ;  and 
they  began  to  say  to  one  another  how  he  was  a  great 
simpleton.  Remained  all  these  three  robbers  together, 
to  guard  this  treasure,  and  began  to  reason  what  they 
should  do.  One  of  them  answered  and  said :  '  It  seems 
to  me  that  since  God  has  given  us  this  high  good  for- 
tune, we  should  not  depart  hence,  until  we  carry  away 
all  this  treasure.'  And  the  other  said  :  '  Let  us  not  do 
so ;  let  one  of  us  take  somewhat  of  it,  and  go  to  the 
city  and  sell  it,  and  get  bread  and  wine  and  whatsoever 
else  we  need,  and  on  this  errand  let  him  use  the  best  wit 
he  has :  let  him  so  do,  that  he  may  furnish  us  forth.' 
To  this  agreed  they  all  three  together.  Now  the  Devil, 
who  is  full  of  devices,  and  in  his  wickedness  ordains 
as  much  evil  as  he  can,  put  into  the  heart  of  him  who 
went  to  the  city  for  provisions,  '  As  soon  as  I  am  in  the 
city  (said  he  to  himself),  I  will  eat  and  drink  as  much 
as  I  need,  and  then  provide  myself  with  certain  things 
for  which  I  have  use  now  at  the  present  time ;  and  then 
I  will  poison  what  I  carry  to  my  companions :  so  that 
when  they  shall  both  be  dead,  I  shall  be  lord  of  all  that 
treasure,  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  it  is  so  great,  that  I 
shall  be  the  richest  man  of  all  this  country  as  regards 
my  having ; '  and  as  it  came  to  him  in  thought,  so  he 
did.  He  took  meat  for  himself,  as  much  as  he  needed, 
and  then  all  the  rest  he  poisoned,  and  so  carried  it  to 
those  his  companions. 

While  he  was  going  to  the  city,  according  as  we  have 
said,  if  he  considered  and  devised  evil  to  slay  his  com- 


THE  PARDONER'S   TALE  227 

panions,  to  the  end  that  all  might  remain  to  him,  they 
on  their  part  thought  no  better  of  him  than  he  of  them, 
and  they  said  to  one  another  :  'As  soon  as  this  comrade 
of  ours  shall  return  with  bread  and  wine  and  with  the 
other  things  which  we  need,  we  will  slay  him,  and  then 
we  will  eat  what  we  want,  and  then  all  this  great  trea- 
sure will  be  between  us  two.  And  as  we  shall  be  fewer 
that  share  it,  so  much  greater  part  will  each  of  us  have.' 
Now  comes  he  who  was  gone  to  the  city  to  buy  the  things 
of  which  they  had  need.  When  he  was  returned  to  his 
companions,  straightway  when  they  saw  him,  they  were 
upon  him  with  lances  and  with  knives,  and  slew  him. 
As  soon  as  they  had  him  dead,  they  ate  of  what  he  had 
brought  ;  and  as  soon  as  they  were  filled,  both  fell  down 
dead.  And  thus  they  died  all  three  ;  for  the  one  slew 
the  other  as  you  have  heard,  and  had  not  the  treasure. 
And  so  our  Lord  God  pays  traitors  ;  for  they  went  to 
seek  death,  and  in  this  manner  they  found  it,  and  in 
such  way  as  they  were  worthy  of.  And  the  wise  man 
wisely  fled  from  it,  and  the  gold  remained  without  a 
master  as  at  first. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  this  tale  should  have  been  a 
popular  one  ;  it  is  in  its  nature  essentially  tragic,  the 
catastrophe  coming  as  a  direct  result  of  evil  charac- 
ter; in  the  eagerness  with  which  death  is  sought  and 
the  ease  with  which  it  is  found,  we  have  a  perfect  ex- 
ample of  dramatic  irony. 

The  effectiveness  of  the  Pardoner's   Tale  depends 
first  on  the  effectiveness  of  its  theme,  as  shown  in  the 
Italian  novella,  and  in  hardly  less  measure  on  The  Par 
the  setting  which  Chaucer  has  given  to  it.    In 


the  background  of  the  story  looms  that  most 
terrible  and  mysterious  force,  the  plague,  death  raised 
to  its  highest  power.    In  our  Western  world  of  sanitary 
science,  widespread  pestilence  has  ceased  to  be  a  matter 


228      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

of  national  experience.  To  realize  what  it  means,  we 
must  read  in  our  newspapers  of  its  ravages  in  India  or 
China,  or  better  still,  read  the  accounts  of  Thucydides 
or  Boccaccio  or  DeFoe.  But  to  Chaucer  and  his  readers 
the  plague  was  a  matter  of  personal  experience.  Four 
times  during  the  reign  of  Edward  III,  in  1348-49, 1361- 
63,  1369,  and  1375-76,  England  was  swept  by  pesti- 
lence. In  the  first  of  these  plagues,  the  same  which 
Boccaccio  describes  in  the  Introduction  of  the  Decam- 
eron, we  are  told  that  half  the  population  of  England 
perished. 

A  highly  interesting  feature  of  Boccaccio's  descrip- 
tion of  the  plague  is  the  account  he  gives  of  its  vary- 
ing effect  on  the  moral  tone  of  Florentine  society.  Some 
gave  themselves  up  to  religious  exercise ;  others  shut 
themselves  up  in  their  houses,  ate  the  most  nourishing 
food,  and  kept  their  minds  occupied  with  pleasant  top- 
ics ;  but  many,  in  the  conviction  that  to-morrow  they 
should  die,  spent  to-day  in  eating,  drinking,  and  making 
merry.  It  is  to  this  last  class  that  the  three  *  riotours ' 
of  the  Pardoner's  Tale  belong.  In  the  Flemish  town 
where  the  scene  of  the  story  is  laid,  a  thousand  victims 
have  already  fallen  ;  but  unchastened  by  the  calamity, 
the  three  'riotours'  sit  in  drunken  revelry  at  their 
tavern,  though  it  is  not  yet  nine  of  the  day.  Amid  their 
laughter  and  oaths  comes  the  solemn  clink  of  the  fu- 
neral bell.  It  is  the  corpse  of  one  of  their  own  friends, 
suddenly  stricken  as  he  sat  drunk  upon  his  bench. 
Though  moved  to  no  amendment  of  life,  they  are  not 
sufficiently  callous  to  continue  their  merry-inaking.  In 
drunken  rage  they  vow  to  seek  out  this  false  traitor 
Death  and  be  revenged.  The  taverner  has  mentioned 
a  great  village  a  mile  or  more  away,  where  not  a 
human  soul  is  left  alive.  Surely  here  victorious  Death 
must  keep  his  abode.  The  background  darkens,  as  the 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE  229 

three  'riotours,'  after  taking  that  ill-kept  oath  of 
mutual  faith,  with  swords  drawn  and  their  mouths 
full  of  curses,  rush  madly  towards  the  city  of  Death. 
We  feel  already  that  doom  hangs  over  them.  They  are 
what  a  Scotchman  calls  'fey,'  marked  out  for  death. 
All  this,  it  will  be  noticed,  is  absent  from  the  Italian 
novella. 

Chaucer  now  provides  a  contrast  of  overwhelming 
power.  An  old,  poor  man,  'al  forwrapped  save  his 
face,'  meets  them  at  a  stile,  which  marks,  perhaps, 
the  confines  of  the  village  they  are  seeking.  It  is 
'  crabbed  age  and  youth,'  drunken  excitement  and  calm 
philosophic  meditation. 

'  Ne  deeth,  alias  !  ne  wol  nat  ban  my  lyf  ; 
Thus  walke  I,  lyk  a  restelees  caityf, 
And  on  the  ground,  which  is  my  modres  gate, 
I  knokke  with  my  staf,  bothe  erly  and  late, 
And  seye,  "  leve  moder,  leet  me  in ! 
Lo,  how  I  vanish,  flesh,  and  blood,  and  skin  ! 
Alias  !  whan  shul  my  bones  been  at  reste  ? 
Moder,  with  yow  wolde  I  chaunge  my  cheste, 
That  in  my  chambre  longe  tyme  hath  be, 
Ye  !  for  an  heyre  clout  to  wrappe  me  ! " 
But  yet  to  me  she  wol  nat  do  that  grace, 
For  which  f ul  pale  and  welked  is  my  face.' 

He,  too,  it  seems,  is  a  seeker  after  death.  But  who 
is  he,  this  mysterious  passenger  ?  Whence  comes  he  ? 
whither  goes  he?  Whose  is  the  treasure  that  lies 
beneath  the  oak?  and  how  came  it  there?  To  none 
of  these  questions  does  Chaucer  so  much  as  hint  an 
answer.  We  feel  that  the  old  man  is  something  other 
than  the  hermit  of  the  Italian  novella;  the  hermit 
was  fleeing  death,  this  man  is  seeking  it.  One  of  the 
'  riotours '  accuses  him  of  being  Death's  spy ;  we  are 
tempted  to  believe  that  he  is  rather  very  Death  him- 
self. But  Chaucer  does  not  say  so ;  he  wraps  him  in 


230  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

a  mystery  as  deep  as  the  mystery  of  death.  The  pale, 
withered  face  and  heavily  shrouded  figure  rise  like 
a  vapor,  and  fade  as  suddenly  into  thin  air.  Was  he 
a  reality  or  a  vision?  And  the  treasure,  those  eight 
bushels  of  gold  florins,  were  they  real  and  palpable, 
or  only  a  dreadful  mocking  vision  ?  Reality  or  vision, 
they  have  in  them  the  power  of  deadly  work. 

The  three  doomed  revelers  run  up  the  crooked  way  ; 
but  instead  of  grim,  antic  Death,  they  find  what  seems 
to  them  the  very  fullness  of  life.  Here  is  provision 
for  endless  days  and  nights  of  dissipation.  They  are 
struck  into  silence  by  the  vision.  The  clink  of  funeral 
bell,  the  mad  quest  of  Death,  the  mysterious  figure,  all 
are  forgotten.  The  fumes  of  drunkenness  clear  away. 
They  are  at  once  practical.  No  questions  are  asked  ; 
the  money  must  be  secured.  Why  care  for  Death? 
Here  is  life,  and  life  in  more  abundance. 

The  cuts  are  drawn ;  the  messenger  is  dispatched ; 
the  two  plots  are  laid,  and  the  poison  is  bought.  A 
few  brief  strokes  sketch  in  the  triple  murder. 

Thus  ended  been  thise  homicydes  two, 
And  eek  the  false  empoysoner  also. 

Three  dead  bodies  and  a  heap  of  worthless  gold  !  They 
have  found  Death  —  the  vanquisher.  The  strange  old 
man  totters  on  his  way,  tapping  with  his  stick  at  the 
gates  of  our  common  grave,  the  earth,  still  seeking  the 
death  which  these  so  readily  have  found.  Will  he  ever 
find  it?  or  is  he  doomed  to  a  withering  Tithonus-like 
immortality,  deathless  as  Death  itself  ? 

This  is  the  tale  of  the  Pardoner,  —  full  of  tragic 
terror ;  dramatic  in  its  structure,  transacted  as  it  is 
almost  wholly  in  dialogue  ;  never  hurried,  but  marching 
forward  with  sure  strides,  unimpeded  with  a  single 
superfluous  detail,  irresistible  and  inevitable  as  death 
and  night. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  PROLOGUE       231 

As  for  the  moral  of  it,  one  could  draw  morals  enough 
if  it  were  desirable.  The  miserable  mountebank  of 
a  Pardoner  sees  in  it  only  the  exemplification  of  his 
favorite  theme :  Radix  malorum  est  cupiditas. 

One  reads  of  the  preacher  Whitefield  that,  in  address- 
ing a  seaman's  mission  in  New  York,  he  described  a 
shipwreck  with  such  vividness  that  a  hardened  old  salt 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  cried,  *  Man  the  boats !  she  '11 
sink  ! '  And  again  that  in  Philadelphia  the  utilitarian 
skeptic  Ben  Franklin  emptied  his  purse  into  the  preach- 
er's collection-box.  With  such  a  tale  as  this  the  Par- 
doner may  well  have  passed  off  his  spurious  relics,  and 
won  the  hundred  marks  a  year  which  he  boasts  of  as 
his  income.  The  sublime  audacity  of  the  Pardoner,  how- 
ever, is  reserved  till  the  end  of  the  tale,  when  in  the 
glow  of  his  oratory  he  offers  his  worthless  relics  to  the 
very  company  to  whom  he  has  made  an  expose  of  his 
lying  methods.  I  hardly  think  he  expected  to  win  their 
silver ;  as  we  have  seen,  he  is  on  a  vacation.  It  is  rather 
the  conscious  artist  in  hypocrisy,  who  wishes  to  give  a 
crowning  example  of  his  art. 

THE   WIFE   OF   BATH'S   PROLOGUE 

The  Wife  of  Batlis  Prologue  is  a  dramatic  mono- 
logue in  which  a  highly  characterized,  but  at  the  same 
time  a  typical,  woman  of  the  middle  class  is  made  to 
reveal  her  own  personality,  narrate  the  events  of  her 
own  life,  and  pronounce  her  opinions  on  the  topic  which 
is  to  her  the  most  vital  of  our  human  life.  At  every 
step  one  is  conscious  of  the  new  influences  brought  into 
our  literature  by  the  Italian  Renaissance.  The  intense 
interest  in  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  without 
which  our  great  dramatic  literature  could  never  have 
been ;  the  breaking  down  of  class  distinction,  which 
makes  a  cloth-weaver  '  of  bisyde  Bathe '  fit  subject  for 


232      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

a  poet's  verse,  and  gives  to  her  thoughts  and  experi- 
ences a  value  as  real  as  those  of  a  countess  or  queen  ; 
and  lastly,  the  almost  revolutionary  daring  with  which 
the  poet  makes  his  creation  demolish  the  cherished 
mediaeval  ideal  of  celibacy,  —  all  these  proclaim  the 
author  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue  as  the  first 
modern  man  of  England,  with  the  virtues  and  faults 
of  our  modern  world. 

Though  this  composition  is  essentially  one  of  Chau- 
cer's most  original  productions,  here  as  elsewhere  he  is 
indebted  to  'olde  bokes.'  The  original  con- 
ception of  the  Wife  of  Bath  is  due,  appar- 
ently, to  an  allegorical  personage  in  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose  named  La  Vieille,  a  personage  who,  though  first 
introduced  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  poem  by  Guil- 
laume  de  Lorris,  is  elaborated  in  Jean  de  Meun's  satiri- 
cal continuation  of  the  work.  But  though  the  points 
of  similarity  are  numerous,  La  Vieille  remains,  as  her 
name  indicates,  an  abstraction,  or  at  most  a  type ;  while 
the  Wife  of  Bath  is  a  living,  breathing  woman.  Other 
hints  for  the  elaboration  of  the  character  Chaucer  seems 
to  have  drawn  from  Jean  de  Meun's  description  of  Le 
Jaloux,  an  old  married  man,  who  attributes  to  woman 
many  of  the  qualities  which  the  Wife  of  Bath  eagerly 
claims  for  herself.1  For  the  long  discussion  of  celibacy, 
however,  Chaucer  has  gone  directly  to  a  work  of  St. 
Jerome,  used  also  by  the  author  of  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose,  known  as  Hleronymus  contra  Jovinianum,  in 
which  the  holy  father  demolishes  with  much  acerbity 
the  argument  of  one  Jovinian,  who  had  ventured  to 
write  against  the  practice  of  celibacy.  In  the  course 
of  this  argument  Jerome  inserts  a  long  extract  from 
a  lost  work  of  a  Greek  named  Theophrastus,  entitled 

1  See  W.  E.  Mead,  '  The  Prologue  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,'  Publi- 
cations of  the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  16.  388-404. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  PROLOGUE       233 

Liber  Aureolus  de  Nuptlis.  A  further  source  is  the 
Epistola  Valerii  ad  Rufinum  de,  non  Ducenda  Uxore, 
printed  among  the  works  of  Jerome,  though  written 
much  later.  These  three  works,  it  will  be  observed, 
were  all  contained  in  the  favorite  volume  of  the  Wife 
of  Bath's  fifth  husband,  the  volume  which  the  irate 
lady  forces  him  to  burn.  The  delicious  humor  of  Chau- 
cer's procedure  consists  in  suffering  the  serious  argu- 
ments of  a  father  of  the  church  to  be  quoted  and 
refuted  by  such  a  one  as  the  Wife  of  Bath.  Bitter 
attacks  on  the  frailty  of  woman  were  a  commonplace 
of  the  old  monastic  literature  ;  but  Chaucer  is  engaged 
in  no  moral  diatribe.  Neither  does  he  feel  called  upon 
to  espouse  the  cause  of  woman  vilified;  in  the  spirit 
of  the  dramatist  he  creates  a  woman  who  not  only 
exemplifies  all  that  had  been  charged  against  woman, 
but  who  even  glories  openly  in  the  possession  of  these 
qualities,  and  by  his  art  forces  us  to  take  her  point  of 
view,  and  all  but  sympathize  with  her. 

It  is  hard  to  say  how  far  Chaucer  himself  was  in 
sympathy  with  the  views  which  the  Wife  of  Bath  pro- 
pounds on  the  subject  of  marriage  and  vir-  TheArgu- 
ginity.  That  he  was  no  mere  glorifier  of  the  ^J^ 
sensual  may  go  without  saying ;  but  that  he  Celibacy, 
recognized  the  fallacy  of  the  prevailing  ideal  of  celi- 
bacy, and  that  besides  his  merely  dramatic  interest  in 
the  Wife  of  Bath  he  was  also  interested  in  breaking 
down  a  false  idol,  is  quite  probable.  Professor  Louns- 
bury  has  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  Chaucer  has 
twice  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  Host,  in  his  words 
to  the  Monk  (B  3133-3154)  and  to  the  Nun's  Priest 
(B  4637-4646),  opinions  of  a  similar  character,  and  on 
the  basis  of  these  facts  he  calls  the  Wife's  Prologue  a 
'  revolutionary  document,'  in  which  the  poet,  shielding 
himself  behind  the  ample  figure  of  this  clothmaker  of 


234  THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Bath,  has  spoken  out  with  playful  exaggeration  his 
opinion  on  one  of  the  questions  of  the  day. 

Whether  Chaucer's  or  not,  the  opinions  are  revo- 
lutionary enough  even  at  the  present  day.  This  four- 
teenth-century advocate  of  a  return  to  nature  is,  how- 
ever, so  prolix  in  her  speech,  and  so  given  to  digression, 
that  it  is  not  wholly  a  work  of  supererogation  to  sum 
up  briefly  the  argument  she  advances. 

A  little  while  ago  she  had  been  told  that  since  Christ 
went  to  but  one  wedding,  she  too,  the  much-married, 
should  have  confined  herself  to  a  single  husband.  Then, 
too,  what  a  sharp  word  Christ  spoke  to  the  woman  of 
Samaria  anent  her  five  husbands,  —  precisely  the  num- 
ber which  the  Wife  has  reached  herself !  But  the  good 
woman  frankly  confesses  that  the  significance  of  that 
rebuke  she  has  never  been  able  to  understand.  There 
is  another  '  gentil  text,'  though,  the  meaning  of  which 
she  can  easily  grasp,  —  the  command  to  be  fruitful  and 
multiply.  God  never  defined  the  number  of  husbands 
which  might  be  taken. 

But  of  no  nombre  mencioun  made  he, 
Of  bigamye  or  of  octogamye. 

(Notice  the  delicious  coinage  of  a  new  word,  necessary 
to  contain  the  new  wine  of  her  advanced  opinions.) 
Solomon  had  many  wives  at  once.  '  Would  that  similar 
liberty  were  allowed  to  me ! '  sighs  the  Wife  of  Bath. 

So  far,  it  will  be  noticed,  the  argument  has  dealt 
with  second  marriage ;  but  there  are  those  who  recom- 
mend the  avoidance  of  marriage  altogether,  and  praise 
perpetual  virginity.  Yet  God  has  never  expressly  com- 
manded virginity,  and  the  apostle,  though  he  counsels 
it,  does  not  enjoin  it.  Up  to  this  point  the  discussion 
has  consisted  of  an  appeal  to  the  authority  of  holy 
writ ;  the  Wife  now  descends  boldly  to  the  ground  of 
common  sense.  If  every  one  should  practice  virginity, 


THE  WIFE  OF   BATH'S  PROLOGUE       235 

who,  pray,  is  to  beget  virgins  and  bring  them  forth? 
It  may  be  that  virginity  is  more  excellent  than  the 
married  state ;  very  well,  wooden  vessels  are  needed 
in  the  household  as  well  as  golden.  The  Wife  of  Bath 
is  quite  contented  with  the  humbler  lot.  Once  more 
there  is  a  bold  appeal  to  common  sense :  it  is  the 
obvious  intention  of  nature  that  man  should  marry 
and  bring  forth  issue.  Having  established  her  point, 
she  can  afford  to  be  generous  to  her  opponents;  they 
may  follow  virginity  if  they  please :  — 

I  nil  envye  no  virginitee; 
Lat  hem  be  breed  of  pured  whete-seed, 
And  lat  us  wy ves  hoten  barly-breed ; 
And  yet  with  barly-breed,  Mark  telle  can, 
Our  lord  Jesu  refresshed  many  a  man. 
In  swich  estaat  as  god  hath  cleped  us 
I  wol  persevere,  I  nam  nat  precious. 

Despite  its  playful  tone,  the  argument  is  a  good  one, 
and  it  may  well  be  believed  that  Chaucer  is  at  least 
half  in  earnest. 

The  chief  interest  of   this  Prologue  lies  not  in  its 
character  as  a  controversial  pamphlet,  but  in  The  wife 
its  portrayal  of  a  human  type.    It  is  a  great  of  Bath, 
human  document. 

Looked  at  superficially,  the  Wife  of  Bath  is  a  thor- 
oughly healthy  animal,  somewhat  over  forty,  of 
substantial  figure,  dressed  conspicuously,  exceedingly 
coarse  in  her  speech,  but  withal  a  friendly,  good-natured 
woman,  and  by  no  means  lacking  in  shrewd,  practical 
wisdom.  Though  she  has  picked  up  many  odds  and 
ends  of  knowledge  from  her  scholar-husband,  Jankin, 
her  manner  of  speech  shows  her  to  be  essentially  illit- 
erate. Her  whole  theory  of  life  is  one  of  frank  ani- 
malism. This  is  what  one  takes  in  at  first  glance, 
and  this,  probably,  is  all  that  her  companions  on  the 


236      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Canterbury  journey  saw  in  her ;  but  Chaucer  saw  more. 
He  saw  that  with  all  her  apparent  gayety,  she  was  not 
happy. 

She  begins  her  long  preamble  with  mention  of  '  wo 
that  is  in  mariage.'  She  argues  at  length  to  prove 
that  marriage  is  the  summum  bonum  of  life,  and  she  has 
had  the  singular  good  fortune  to  enter  five  times  into 
this  blessed  state ;  surely  she  should  know  the  quintes- 
sence of  bliss.  But  none  of  her  marriages  has  been 
fortunate;  of  her  husbands  she  says:  'Three  of  hem 
were  gode  and  two  were  badde ; '  but  with  none  of  them 
was  she  happy.  The  first  three  she  had  married  for 
their  money.  They  were  too  old  to  satisfy  her  lust; 
they  chided  and  harangued  her ;  they  would  not  even 
give  her  money  enough  to  satisfy  her  love  of  finery. 
The  fourth  husband  was  a  reveler,  who  made  her  as 
jealous  as  she  had  made  his  predecessors.  The  fifth, 
clerk  Jankin,  tried  to  lord  it  over  her,  and  told  her 
uncomplimentary  stories  from  his  books.  When  she 
had  at  last  won  the  mastery,  he  disobligingly  died.  Is 
not  this  '  tribulacioun  in  mariage '  ? 

She  is  haunted,  moreover,  with  a  vague  suspicion 
that,  argue  as  she  may  to  the  contrary,  her  way  of 
life  is  not  the  right  one,  a  subconscious  conviction  that 
reaches  masterful  expression  in  the  single  exclamation : 

Alias  !  alias  !  that  ever  love  was  sinne  ! 

A  further  proof  of  her  failure  to  attain  happiness  is 
found  in  her  restlessness.  As  the  souls  of  the  lustful 
in  the  first  circle  of  the  Inferno  are  blown  about  con- 
tinually by  the  whirlwind,  so  she  has  been  driven  by 
her  restlessness  to  seek  strange  lands.  She  has  been  to 
Rome,  to  Santiago  in  Spain,  to  Boulogne,  to  Cologne. 
Thrice  she  has  made  the  long  journey  to  Jerusalem. 
When  we  meet  her,  she  is  on  the  road  to  Canterbury. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  PROLOGUE       237 

It  is  the  same  insatiable  lust  for  travel  which  marks 
the  restlessness  of  our  modern  life. 

Worst  of  all,  the  Wife  of  Bath  is  growing  old.  Mar- 
ried first  at  the  age  of  twelve,  she  is  already  forty 
when  she  marries  her  fifth  husband.  She  must  now  be 
nearing  fifty.  Her  good  days  are  done.  If,  as  Horace 
tells  us,  no  piety  can  give  pause  to  wrinkles  and  sure- 
advancing  age,  neither  can  the  impiety  of  rank  animal- 
ism. It  is  not  only  *  indomitable  death  '  whose  approach 
she  has  to  dread,  but  the  dulling  of  the  sharp  edge  of 
pleasure  on  which  her  fancied  happiness  depends. 

'  But  age,  alias  !  that  al  wol  envenyme, 
Hath  me  biraft  my  beautee  and  my  pith; 
Lat  go,  fare-wel,  the  devel  go  therwith  ! 
The  flour  is  goon,  ther  is  na-more  to  telle, 
The  bren,  as  I  best  can,  now  moste  I  selle; 
But  yet  to  be  right  mery  wol  I  fonde.' 

The  spirit  of  reckless  bravado  in  these  lines  cannot 
blind  us  to  the  terrible  truth  they  contain.  The  last  line 
in  particular  tells  us  that  the  gayety  of  her  character  is 
a  forced  gayety :  — 

'  But  yet  to  be  right  mery  wol  2  fonde.' 

There  is,  as  Professor  Lounsbury  has  said,  a  profound 
'undertone  of  melancholy'  running  through  all  the 
apparent  gayety  of  the  piece. 

It  is  this  deeper  significance  of  the  character  which 
we  must  urge  against  those  who  are  tempted  to  quarrel 
with  the  Prologue  on  the  score  of  morality.  Chaucer 
has  indeed  chosen  to  depict  an  immoral  woman,  and  he 
has  allowed  her  to  reveal  herself  with  a  coarse  plainness 
of  language  which  is  sure  to  shock  the  fastidious  of 
a  more  prudish  age,  and  which  may  well  have  shocked 
the  more  fastidious  of  Chaucer's  contemporaries;  but 
we  must  remember  that  Chaucer  has  not  apologized  for 


238      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

her  immorality,  nor  attempted  to  represent  it  as  other 
than  it  is.  Some  readers  may  find  the  poem  disgusting; 
but  no  one  can  call  it  seductive.  Chaucer  has,  more- 
over, preserved  the  moral  balance  by  his  clear  appre- 
ciation of  the  fact  that  unstinted  gratification  of  sense 
is  not  the  road  to  happiness. 

THE  WIFE  OP  BATH'S  TALE 

It  was  Chaucer's  first  intention,  as  we  have  seen 
above,1  to  put  in  the  mouth  of  the  Wife  of  Bath  the 
'merry'  fabliau  of  the  Parisian  merchant  and  his  un- 
faithful wife  which  we  know  as  the  Shipman's  Tale. 
The  general  tenor  of  this  tale  is  thoroughly  appropri- 
ate to  the  Wife  of  Bath;  but  Chaucer  conceived  a  new 
and  better  idea.  The  good  woman's  prologue  has  dealt 
with  the  'wo  that  is  in  mariage.'  She  has  proposed  a 
problem  —  how  to  be  happy  though  married;  and  in  her 
own  tale  and  in  those  of  the  Clerk,  the  Merchant,  and 
the  Franklin  which  follow  are  presented  various  answers 
to  the  problem  or  contributions  towards  its  solution. 
Recent  critics  have  called  this  set  of  tales  the  'marriage 
group.' 

In  the  Wife's  own  tale  the  knight,  confronted  with 
the  choice  whether  he  would  have  his  wife  old  and  foul 
but  faithful  and  devoted,  or  young  and  fair  but  skittish, 
leaves  the  decision  to  the  lady  herself,  giving  her  the 
mastery  and  sovereignty  over  him.  As  a  reward  for  his 
submission,  she  promises  to  be  both  fair  and  good. 

And  thus  they  live,  unto  hir  lyves  ende, 
In  parfit  joye. 

The  recipe  for  marital  happiness  is  to  let  your  wife  have 
her  own  way  in  everything. 

1  See  page  189. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE  239 

After  the  quarrelsome  interlude  of  Friar  and  Sum- 
moner  is  concluded,  the  Clerk  of  Oxford  returns  to  the 
theme  of  marriage  with  a  tale  addressed  directly  to 
the  Wife  of  Bath,  which  offers  exactly  the  opposite  an- 
swer. Marquis  Walter  rules  his  ever-patient  wife  with 
the  most  autocratic  sovereignty.  To  all  his  commands, 
however  outrageous,  she  gives  unquestioning,  uncom- 
plaining obedience;  and,  her  twelve  years  of  trial  over  — 

Ful  many  a  yeer  in  heigh  prosperitee 
Liven  thise  two  in  concord  and  in  reste. 

The  Clerk's  playful  recipe  for  happiness  is  complete 
wifely  submission. 

The  Merchant's  Tale  offers  no  recipe  for  happiness, 
but  elaborates  further  the  woe  that  is  in  marriage,  par- 
ticularly in  such  an  ill-assorted  union  as  that  of  January 
and  May,  perhaps  in  any  marriage  entered  into  with 
the  sole  idea  of  'fol  delit.'  Chaucer  had  been  reading 
the  Miroir  de  Mariage  of  Deschamps,  and  from  it  he 
draws  in  considerable  measure  the  long  satirical  dis- 
cussion of  marriage  which  occupies  the  earlier  part  of 
the  Merchant's  Tale.1 

The  final  contribution  to  the  debate  is  found  in  the 
Franklin's  Tale.  Dorigen  and  her  husband  Arviragus 
have  found  the  solution  in  mutual  forbearance.  The 
husband  swears  that  he  will  'take  no  maistrye  agayn 
hir  wil';  and  she  in  return  promises  that  there  shall 
never  be  dispute  between  them,  that  she  will  be  his 
'humble  trewe  wyf.'  This,  says  the  Franklin,  is  the 
only  way  to  married  happiness:  — 

For  o  thing,  sires,  saufiy  dar  I  seye, 
That  frendes  everich  other  moot  obeye, 

1  See  the  article  by  J.  L.  Lowes  on  'Chaucer  and  the  Miroir  de 
Mariage,'  Modern  Philology,  8.  165-186,  305-334. 


240      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

If  they  wol  longe  holden  companye. 
Love  wol  nat  ben  constreyned  by  maistrye; 
Whan  maistrie  comth,  the  god  of  love  anon 
Beteth  hise  winges,  and  farewell  he  is  gon! * 

Stories  closely  akin  to  that  told  by  the  Wife  of  Bath 
are  found  elsewhere  in  English  literature.  Gower  tells 
essentially  the  same  story,  though  in  much 
less  artistic  form,  in  the  first  book  of  the  Con- 
fessio  Amantis.  In  Bishop  Percy's  folio  manuscript 
there  are  two  ballads  —  the  Wedding  of  Sir  Gawain 
and  Dame  Ragnell  and  the  Marriage  of  Sir  Gawaine 
—  which  develop  the  same  theme.  Still  another  in- 
stance of  the  tale  is  the  border  ballad  of  King  Hen- 
•  rie  in  Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.  Sim- 
ilar stories  of  a  loathly  lady  who  becomes  beautiful  in 
her  marriage-bed  are  found  in  Icelandic,  Gaelic,  French, 
German,  and  in  the  Orient.  Indeed,  the  idea  of  dis- 
enchantment by  a  kiss  is  a  common  theme  of  fairy 
tales,  as  in  the  well-known  nursery  story  of  the  Sleep- 
ing Beauty.2 

Though  Gower's  version  and  Chaucer's  are  nearer 
akin  to  one  another  than  to  any  other  of  the  tales  known 
to  us,  neither  seems  to  have  been  direct  source  for 
the  other.  Dr.  G.  H.  Maynadier,3  who  has  gone  most 
thoroughly  into  the  question,  believes  that  the  tales 
of  Chaucer  and  Gower  go  back  ultimately  to  an  Old 

1  Through  these  tales  of  the  'marriage  group'  there  runs  another 
thread  of  common  interest,  the  discussion  of  'gentillesse.'  The  doc- 
trine that  'gentillesse'  depends  not  on  birth  but  on  excellence  of 
character,  promulgated  by  the  loathly  lady  in  the  Wife's  tale,  is  ex- 
emplified by  the  perfect  bearing  of  the  lowly-born  Griselda.  The 
Franklin  is  impressed  by  the  '  gentillesse '  of  the  Squire  and  his  tale  of 
Canace.  He  wishes  that  his  own  son  'mighte  lerne  gentillesse  aright.' 
The  Franklin's  Tale  shows  that  a  clerk  can  '  doon  a  gentil  dede '  as  well 
as  a  knight  or  squire. 

J     See  Originals  and  Analogues,  pp.  481-524. 

1  The  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  its  Sources  and  Analogues,  London,  1901. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE  241 

Irish  original ;  but  his  argument,  though  interesting, 
is  so  involved  that  one  fails  to  be  convinced  by  it. 

The  Friar,  always  ready,  as  the  Sumraoner  declares, 
to  intermeddle  in  matters  that  do  not  concern  him,  has 
laughed  at  the  undue  length  of  the  Wife's  TneTaie 
preamble  to  her  tale.    She  does  not  immedi-    Itself- 
ately  answer  him ;  indeed,  the  loud-voiced  Summoner 
gives  her  no  chance ;  but  when  the  Host  has  called  the 
Friar  and  Summoner  to  order,  she  takes  occasion,  in 
the  opening  paragraph  of   her  tale,  to  pay  back  her 
critic  with  a  clever  dig.    Her  tale  is  to  be  a  fairy  tale, 
and  so  she  begins  with  the  remark  that 

In  th'  olde  dayes  of  the  king  Arthour, 
Of  which  that  Britons  speken  greet  honour, 
Al  was  this  land  fulfild  of  fayerye. 
The  elf-queen,  with  hir  joly  companye, 
Daunced  ful  ofte  in  many  a  greue  mode; 

but  now  their  place  has  been  taken  by  these  limiters 
and  other  holy  friars :  — 

For  ther  as  wont  to  walken  was  an  elf, 
Ther  walketh  now  the  limitour  himself. 

As  a  result  of  this  change,  — 

Wommen  may  go  saufly  up  and  doun, 
In  every  bush,  or  under  every  tree  ; 
Ther  is  noon  other  incubus  but  he, 
And  he  ne  wol  doon  hem  but  dishonour.1 

The  Wife  of  Bath  has  introduced  her  tale  and  paid 
back  the  Friar  at  the  same  time ;  while  the  combina- 
tion of  delicate  imagination  with  coarse  insinuation 
serves  admirably  as  a  transition  from  the  Prologue  to 
the  tale  itself. 

1  I.  e.,  '  He  -will  not  carry  them  off  to  fairy-land ;  he  will  only  dis- 
honor them.'  This  is  the  reading  of  Skeat's  text  and  of  the  best 
MSS.  The  Globe  Edition,  following  the  Cambridge  MS.,  reads :  '  And 
he  ne  wol  doon  hem  non  dishonour,'  which  must,  of  course,  be  taken 
as  sarcasm. 


242      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

The  story  proceeds  smoothly  for  a  while,  till  the 
knight  begins  to  collect  answers  to  the  riddle,  '  What 
thing  is  it  that  wommen  most  desyren?'  The  Wife 
finds  herself  face  to  face  again  with  the  question  she 
has  debated  in  her  Prologue ;  and  fifty-seven  lines  are 
devoted  to  a  discussion  of  the  various  answers  sug- 
gested, and  to  the  tale  of  Midas's  wife  (learned  doubt- 
less from  husband  number  five).  One  may  notice  that 
she  here  returns  for  a  while  from  the  land  of  fiction 
to  the  problems  of  reality.  This  is  suggested  subtly 
by  a  change  of  tense,  and  by  the  introduction  of  the 
pronoun  '  we,'  which  indicates  her  lively  personal  par- 
ticipation in  the  matter.  Compare,  for  example,  the 

Sotnme  seyde,  wommen  loven  best  richesse 
of  line  925  with 

Somme  seyde,  that  our  hertes  been  most  esed, 
When  that  we  been  yflatered  and  yplesed 

of  lines  929,  930,  and  with  change  to  the  present  tense : 

And  somme  seyn,  how  that  we  loven  best 
For  to  be  free,  and  do  right  as  us  lest. 

The  story  is  resumed  with  the  charmingly  poetical 
vision  of  the  four  and  twenty  ladies  dancing  under  a 
forest  side,  who  vanish  as  the  knight  approaches.  The 
picture  is  not  elaborated  as  Spenser  would  have  treated 
it ;  *  it  is  merely  suggested  to  the  imagination.  It  is 
sufficient,  however,  to  furnish  us  with  the  hint  that  the 
loathly  lady  is  not  of  human  kind.  One  may  notice 
in  passing  how  Chaucer  has  managed  to  introduce  an 
element  of  surprise  into  the  story.  The  hag  does  not, 
as  in  Gower,  specify  the  condition  on  which  she  will 
extricate  the  knight  from  his  difficulty,  she  merely 
demands  the  granting  of  her  first  request;  not  till 
after  the  knight's  triumphant  answer  to  the  queen,  is 
1  Cf.  Faerie  Queene,  6.  10.  10-18. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE  243 

marriage  mentioned.  Nor  does  the  reader  learn  the 
answer  to  the  riddle  till  the  knight  speaks  it  out  in  full 
court. 

Brought  to  the  fulfillment  of  his  pledge,  the  knight 
ungenerously,  though  not  unnaturally,  objects  that  his 
wife  is  loathly  and  old  and  come  of  low  kind.  This 
gives  occasion  for  the  long  and  excellent  sermon  on  the 
nature  of  true  nobility  which  occupies  the  last  quarter 
of  the  tale :  — 

Loke  who  that  is  most  vertuous  alway, 
Privee  and  apert,  and  most  enteudeth  ay 
To  do  the  gentil  dedes  that  he  can, 
And  tak  him  for  the  grettest  gentil  man. 

The  noble  ideas  nobly  expressed  in  this  speech,  which 
suggest  familiar  words  of  Burns  and  of  Tennyson, 
though  part  of  Chaucer's  personal  creed,  as  shown  by 
their  reappearance  in  his  balade  of  Gentilesse,  are  not 
his  original  discovery.  A  similar  strain  of  democracy 
may  be  found  in  Dante,  in  Petrarch,  in  Boccaccio, 
and  in  the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  Some  exception  has 
been  taken,  however,  to  the  dramatic  appropriateness 
of  such  sentiments  to  the  character  of  the  Wife  of 
Bath.  Ten  Brink  says,  for  example  :  '  The  thoroughly 
sound  moral  of  the  long  sermon  given  by  the  wise  old 
woman,  before  her  metamorphosis,  to  her  young,  unwill- 
ing husband,  comes  more  from  the  heart  of  the  poet 
than  from  the  Wife  of  Bath.' 1  But  is  not  the  Wife 
of  Bath,  as  a  prosperous  member  of  the  middle  class, 
precisely  the  person  to  assert  that  true  gentility  is 
not  the  peculiar  possession  of  the  nobly  born?  If  the 
poet  has  lent  to  these  lines  a  tone  of  higher  poetry 
than  the  Wife  can  be  conceived  capable  of,  he  has  done 
only  what  Shakespeare  does  continually.  The  function 
of  the  dramatist  is  not  that  of  the  mere  reporter. 
1  History  of  English  Literature  (English  trans.),  2.  163. 


244      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Another  possible  objection  that  may  be  urged  against 
this  passage  is  that  so  long  a  digression  interrupts  too 
seriously  the  progress  of  the  tale.  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  an  artistic  device  of  the  highest  skill.  A  loathly 
hag  is  to  be  transformed  suddenly  into  a  beautiful  lady. 
Such  a  process  makes  a  large  draught  on  our  powers 
of  belief.  The  high  poetry  of  the  long  discourse  serves 
to  bridge  over  the  change ;  our  minds  are  for  the  time 
being  diverted  from  what  is  going  on.  We  are  held 
captive  by  the  spell  of  her  poetry,  and  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  speech  are  not  surprised  to  find  that  the  speaker 
is  of  wondrous  beauty.  As  a  further  instance  of  Chau- 
cer's art  in  the  management  of  the  metamorphosis,  we 
may  notice  that  he  refrains  from  any  detailed  descrip- 
tion either  of  her  ugliness  or  of  her  beauty.  Our  minds 
are  less  startled  by  the  change  from  ugliness  in  general 
to  beauty  in  general  than  by  that  of  a  definite  type  of 
ugliness  into  a  definite  type  of  beauty. 

The  tale  is  one  of  Chaucer's  poetic  triumphs. 

THE  FRIAR'S  TALE 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's  long  pre- 
amble, it  will  be  remembered,  the  Friar  had  *  intermed- 
dled '  with  a  derisive  laugh  at  the  good  woman's  long- 
windedness,  and  had  been  promptly  called  to  order  by 
the  Summoner.  Each  promised  to  tell  a  tale  which 
should  not  be  complimentary  to  the  other's  profession ; 
and  only  with  difficulty  could  the  Host  calm  them 
down,  and  win  a  hearing  for  the  Wife  of  Bath.  All 
through  this  enforced  silence,  the  quarrel  has  been 
smouldering  ;  and  the  Friar  has  cast  dark  looks  upon 
his  natural  foe.  When  Dame  Alice  has  ended,  the 
Friar  hastens  to  seize  the  opportunity  to  strike  the  first 
blow.  His  tale  is  ably  paid  back  by  the  Summoner ; 
and  each  reader  must  decide  for  himself  which  comes 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE  246 

out  better  in  this  war  of  tales.  The  enmity  of  the 
Friar  and  the  Summoner  is  not  come  of  new;  their 
quarrel  is  the  quarrel  of  their  professions.  The  Sum- 
moner belongs  to  the  organization  of  the  so-called  sec- 
ular clergy,  which  includes  the  parish  priests,  the  arch- 
deacons, and  the  bishops.  The  Friar,  as  a  member  of 
a  mendicant  order,  belongs  to  the  so-called  religious 
clergy  —  those  who  had  taken  definite  religious  vows, 
and  belonged  to  world-wide  organizations,  which  held 
authority  directly  from  the  Pope,  and  were  independ- 
ent of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  national  church.  Such 
a  co-existence  of  separate  ecclesiastical  organizations 
within  the  same  realm  gave  rise,  of  course,  to  endless 
jars ;  for  the  religious  clergy  were  continually  en- 
croaching on  the  privileges  of  their  secular  brethren, 
and  the  latter  not  unnaturally  tried  to  curb  their 
power.  Thus  the  Friar  boasts  that  he  and  his  order 
are  outside  the  Summoner's  jurisdiction ;  to  which  the 
Summoner  gives  countercheck  quarrelsome  by  the 
answer  that  so  are  '  the  wommen  of  the  styves.'  Since 
we  know  that  the  Friar  could  rage  '  as  it  were  right 
a  whelpe,'  and  since  the  '  fyr-reed  cherubines  face  *  of 
the  Summoner  portends  a  choleric  disposition,  their 
quarrel  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  As  it  was  appar- 
ently Chaucer's  purpose  to  show  up  both  professions 
impartially,  he  chose  the  clever  device  of  *  making 
each  of  these  rascals  demolish  the  other,'  a  device 
which  serves  also  to  heighten  the  dramatic  realism  of 
the  Canterbury  pilgrimage. 

The  Friar's  Tale  is  merely  an  application  to  the 
profession  of  the  Summoner  of  a  popular  anecdote,  pre- 
viously told  at  the  expense  of  a  bailiff  or  a 

•*  ^  SOUTC6S* 

lawyer,  but  equally  appropriate  to  any  other 
unpopular  functionary.    Two  analogues  to  Chaucer's 
tale  are  given   in   the   Chaucer   Society's  volume  of 


246      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Originals  and  Analogues.  The  first  of  these,  and  the 
one  which  illustrates  most  clearly  what  the  poet  had 
to  build  on,  is  found  in  a  volume,  printed  probably 
about  1480,  written  by  a  Dominican  friar  named  John 
Herolt,  which  is  intended  as  a  help  to  sermon-writers. 
The  second  section  of  the  work  contains  a  series  of 
short  anecdotes  which  a  preacher  might  find  useful 
as  examples  to  point  his  moral.  Among  them  is  the 
story  just  referred  to.  Of  course  this  volume  appeared 
nearly  a  century  later  than  the  Canterbury  Tales  ;  but 
the  anecdote  may  well  have  been  in  circulation  long 
before.  If  Chaucer  found  it  in  some  similar  work  on 
sermon-writing,  its  appropriateness  to  the  preaching 
Friar  is  very  obvious.  The  heightened  effectiveness 
of  Chaucer's  tale,  which,  in  the  absence  of  any  evi- 
dence to  the  contrary,  we  may  suppose  due  to  his  own 
genius,  is  clearly  shown  by  a  comparison  with  this 
Latin  Narrative  of  a  certain  Wicked  Seneschal  which 
I  shall  give  here  in  translation. 

There  was  a  certain  man,  a  seneschal  and  lawyer, 
a  calumniator  of  the  poor,  and  a  despoiler  of  goods  of 
every  sort.  One  day  he  went  to  court  to  bring  a  suit, 
and  to  enrich  himself.  A  certain  man  met  him  in  the 
way  and  said  to  him,  *  Where  are  you  going  ?  and 
what  is  your  business  ?  '  The  first  man  answered,  *  I 
am  going  to  make  money.'  And  the  second  said,  'I 
am  just  such  a  one  as  you.  Let 's  go  together.'  When 
the  first  man  consented  to  this,  the  second  said  to  him, 

*  How  do  you  make  your  money  ? '   And  he  answered, 

*  The  substance  of  the  poor,  as  long  as  they  have  any- 
thing, which  I  get  by  law-suits  and  prosecutions,  either 
justly  or  unjustly.    Now  I  have  told  you  how  I  make 
my  money,  tell  me,  prithee,  how  do  you  make  yours  ? ' 
The  second  answered  him  and  said, '  I  put  down  to  my 
profit  everything  that  is  given  to  the  devil  in  curses.' 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE  247 

The  first  man  laughed,  and  made  fun  of  the  second, 
not  knowing  that  he  was  the  devil.  After  a  little,  as 
they  were  going  through  a  town,  they  heard  a  poor 
man  curse  a  calf,  which  he  was  leading  to  market, 
because  it  would  not  go  straight ;  and  they  also  heard 
a  similar  curse  from  a  woman  who  was  beating  her 
boy.  Then  said  the  first  to  the  second,  *  Here 's  a 
chance  for  you  to  make  money  if  you  wish.  Take  the 
boy  and  the  calf.'  The  second  answered,  'I  can't,  be- 
cause they  are  not  cursing  from  their  hearts.'  Now 
when  they  had  gone  a  little  further,  a  band  of  poor 
men  came  along,  going  to  the  law-court,  and  seeing  the 
seneschal,  they  all  began  to  hurl  curses  at  him  with 
one  accord.  And  the  second  said  to  the  first,  '  Do  you 
hear  what  they  say  ? '  4 1  hear,'  said  he,  '  but  it  makes 
no  difference  to  me.'  And  the  second  said,  '  They  are 
cursing  from  their  hearts,  and  giving  you  over  to  the 
devil,  and  so  you  shall  be  mine.'  And  straightway  he 
snatched  him  up  and  disappeared  with  him.1 

This  is  a  clever  and  diverting  anecdote  ;  but  Chau- 
cer's tale  is  something  more.  We  may  notice  first  of 
all  the  heightened  realism  given  by  the  de-  chaucer'a 
tailed  description  of  the  Summoner  and  his  Tale< 
methods,  and  of  the  fiend,  as  he  rides  in  his  gay  dis- 
guise of  yeoman's  green ;  by  the  vivid  picture  of  the 
carter  urging  his  horses,  Brok  and  Scot,  through  the 
heavy  slough,  whacking  them  and  cursing  them  while 
the  wagon  sticks,  calling  down  all  the  blessings  of 
heaven  upon  them  when  the  wheels  begin  to  turn ; 
and  by  the  half-humorous,  half-pathetic  figure  of  old 
Mabely  indignantly  repelling  the  Summoner's  persecu' 
tion,  wishing  him  and  the  new  pan,  which  he  covets, 
both  to  the  devil  together.  The  dialogue  between  the 

1  Still  another  analogue,  from  the  Zurich  poet,  Usteri  (1763-1827X 
is  given  by  F.  Vetter  in  Anglia,  Beiblatt,  13.  180,  181. 


248      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

two  travelers  is,  as  Ten  Brink  calls  it,  a  little  master- 
piece. Though  he  is  entertaining  him  unawares,  the 
Summoner  finds  the  fiend  such  eminently  congenial 
company,  that  he  immediately  pledges  him  a  life-long 
friendship.  Shameless  as  he  is,  he  none  the  less  tries 
to  hide  the  fact  of  his  detested  calling :  — 

He  dorste  nat,  for  verray  filthe  and  shame, 
Seye  that  he  was  a  somnour,  for  the  name. 

Deliciously  humorous  is  the  series  of  hints  by  which 
the  fiend  gradually  reveals  his  true  identity.  He,  too, 
is  a  sort  of  bailiff,  who  must  gather  in  his  lord's  rents. 
As  for  his  dwelling-place,  it  is  '  fer  in  the  north  con- 
tree  '  (the  region  where  Lucifer  set  up  his  power)  ; l 
the  yeoman  hopes  to  see  his  new  friend  there  some 
day ;  he  will  give  him  such  clear  directions  before  they 
part,  that  he  cannot  possibly  miss  it.  The  fiend's  ac- 
count of  his  own  unscrupulous  methods  draws  from 
the  Summoner  a  frank  confession  that  he  makes  off 
with  everything  that  he  can  find,  4  but-if  it  be  to 
bevy  or  to  hoot.'  The  Summoner  must  know  the  name 
of  this  stranger  so  completely  after  his  own  heart. 

This  yeman  gan  a  litel  for  to  smyle. 
1  Brother,'  quod  he,  '  wiltow  that  I  thee  telle  ? 
I  am  a  feend,  my  dwelling  is  in  belle.' 

The  Summoner  is  naturally  a  little  startled  at  the 
revelation,  but  not  for  long ;  he  is  not  the  man  to  give 
up  so  charming  an  acquaintance  for  a  trifling  circum- 
stance. One  may  be  a  little  taken  aback  on  discover- 
ing that  a  chance  acquaintance  is  a  rabid  anarchist  or 
violent  atheist.  If  he  is  well  dressed,  and  a  gentleman, 
we  can  pardon  him  some  eccentricities  of  belief ;  and 

1  The  hell  of  Teutonic  mythology  was  located  in  the  north,  as  the 
region  of  darkness.  A  false  interpretation  of  Isaiah  14.  12-14  may 
have  helped  to  incorporate  the  same  idea  into  Christian  myth.  Of. 
Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  5.  755. 


THE  SUMMONER'S  TALE  249 

then,  too,  a  man  of  revolutionary  tendencies  is  so  in- 
teresting. The  Summoner  begins  immediately  to  ques- 
tion him  on  the  '  privitees  '  of  a  fiend's  existence.  The 
fiend,  who,  we  may  notice,  has  a  supreme  contempt  for 
the  speculations  of  theologians  — 

I  do  no  fors  of  your  divinitee  — 

obligingly  satisfies  his  curiosity,  so  far  as  these  things 
can  be  explained  to  a  mere  mortal.  Hereafter,  he  pro- 
mises, the  Summoner  shall  come  where  he  needs  no 
further  teaching :  — 

For  thou  sbalt  by  thyn  owene  experience 
Conne  in  a  chayer  rede  of  this  sentence 
Bet  than  Virgyle,  whyl  he  was  on  lyve, 
Or  Dant  also. 

The  Summoner  may  be  professor  of  demonology,  if  he 
wishes,  and  lecture  from  a  professional  chair  draped  in 
the  red,  not  of  a  doctor  of  divinity,  but  the  red  glare  of 
hell-fire. 

There  is  one  moment  of  suspense,  just  before  the 
tale  reaches  its  catastrophe.  Old  Mabely  wishes  the 
Summoner  to  the  devil  with  all  her  heart,  but  with 
one  proviso, '  but  he  wol  him  repente.'  The  Summoner, 
who  has  surely  had  warning  enough  of  what  he  is  to 
expect,  who  was  quick  enough  to  suggest  to  his  diabolic 
friend  that  the  carter's  horses  were  legitimate  prey,  is 
fatally  blind.  Proudly  he  asserts  that  he  has  no  inten- 
tion of  repenting,  and  the  fiend  bears  him  off  body  and 
soul  to  hell, 

Wher-as  that  somnours  ban  hir  heritage. 

THE  SUMMONEE'S  TALE 

Once,  near  the  beginning  of  the  Friar's  tale,  the 
Summoner  could  not  refrain  an  interruption ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  he  kept  himself  very  well  in  hand,  know- 
ing that  the  hour  of  his  revenge  was  near.  At  the  end 


250      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

of  the  tale,  however,  he  is  quaking  like  an  aspen  leaf 
for  wrath,  and,  unable  to  wait  for  the  slower  revenge 
of  his  tale,  serves  an  hors  d'cettvre  in  the  shape  of  a 
not  very  savory  anecdote,  which  describes  the  partic- 
ular place  in  hell  reserved  for  these  cursed  friars.  If 
the  Friar  has  been  able  to  tell  much  of  the  true  nature 
of  fiends,  it  is  no  wonder,  for 

Freres  and  feendes  been  but  lyte  a-sonder. 

The  tale  of  the  Summoner  is,  as  far  as  our  present 
knowledge  suffers  us  to  say,  mainly  original.  The  cen- 
tral  idea  of  it,  to  be  sure,  may  very  well  have 
been  suggested  by  an  old  French  story,  the 
Tale  of  the  Priest's  Bladder,  versified  by  one  Jakes 
de  Basiu.1  This  story  tells  of  a  priest  near  Antwerp, 
who  is  visited  on  his  death-bed  by  two  Jacobin  friars, 
who  beg  an  offering.  He  has  already  made  his  will, 
and  at  first  refuses  them  outright ;  but  when  they  are 
importunate,  he  bids  them  come  next  day  with  their 
prior,  and  he  will  give  them  a  jewel  which  he  would 
not  part  with  for  a  thousand  silver  marks.  The  jewel 
turns  out  to  be  his  own  bladder,  which  they  may 
cleanse  and  use  for  a  pepper-box ;  and  the  friars  go 
home,  laughed  at  of  all.  Quite  possibly  Chaucer  knew 
some  variant  of  this  tale,  now  lost  to  us.  The  definite 
localization  of  the  incident  at  Holderness  in  York- 
shire makes  this  probable.  If  such  a  variant  existed, 
it  probably  contained  the  change  in  the  nature  of  the 
bequest,  and  the  germ,  at  least,  of  the  closing  scene 
in  the  hall  of  the  lord,  where  the  young  squire  wins 
a  new  gown  by  his  clever  resolution  of  the  problem 
which  the  churl  had  set.  We  may  assume,  with  some 

1  The  tale  is  given  by  Legrand  d'Aussy  in  his  collection  of  Fabliaux 
ou  Contes,  Fables  et  Romans  du  Xlle  et  du  Xllle.  Siecle  (1829).  It  is 
reprinted  in  Originals  and  Analogues  of  Some  of  Chaucer's  Canterbury 
Talet,  pp.  137-144. 


THE  SUMMONER'S  TALE  251 

confidence,  that  the  long  hypocritical  prediction  with 
which  Friar  John  favors  the  bed-rid  churl,  and  the  per- 
fect life-likeness  of  the  scene,  are  Chaucer's  original 
addition. 

Some  readers,  I  suppose,  will  be  offended  at  the 
coarseness  of  the  Summoner's  Tale.   Coarse   it  cer- 
tainly is  in   its   closing  portion,  but  not   in  1^8^. 
the  least  vicious.    So  callous  is  the  wretched  moner's 
friar  of  the  tale  in  his  miserable  hypocrisies, 
that  he  needs  a  coarse  insult  by  way  of  discipline.    In- 
deed, the  outspoken  frankness  of  the  conclusion  comes 
as  a  positive  relief  after  the  sanctimonious  pretenses 
of  the  friar.   As  for  the  coarseness  of  old  Thomas,  we 
may  dismiss  that  as  does  the  lady  in  the  castle,  whither 
the  irate  friar  has  betaken  himself  for  redress :  — 
I  seye,  a  clierl  hath  doon  a  cherles  dede; 

as  for  the  coarseness  of  the  squire,  that  is  so  ingenious 
that  it  is  surely  forgivable. 

But  the  real  literary  value  of  the  Summoner's  Tale 
lies  not  in  the  plot  of  it,  however  artistically  conducted, 
so  much  as  in  the  masterful  portrait  of  the  dissembling 
friar.  James  Russell  Lowell  has  called  attention  to  the 
rich  suggestiveness  of  the  line  :  — 

And  fro  the  bench  he  droof  awey  the  cat. 

'We  know  without  need  of  more  words  that  he  has 
chosen  the  snuggest  corner.'  Admirable,  too,  is  the 
picture  of  the  good-wife  with  her  kindly  hospitality, 
her  openness  to  flattery,  and  her  ample  faith  in  the 
efficacy  of  Friar  John's  prayers,  contrasting  sharply 
with  the  companion  picture  of  her  churlish  husband 
and  his  rough  incredulity. 

At  the  shameless  hypocrisy  of  the  friar,  one  knows 
not  whether  to  laugh  or  to  weep.  So  complete  a  master 
is  be  of  the  art  of  shamming  that,  even  in  his  trans- 


252      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

port  of  rage,  he  remembers  to  protest  at  the  title  of 
'  master  '  which  the  lord  bestows  on  him :  — 

'  No  maister,  sire,'  quod  he,  '  but  servitour, 
Thogh  I  have  had  in  scole  swich  honour. 
God  lyketh  nat  that  "  Raby  "  men  us  calle, 
Neither  in  market  ue  in  your  large  halle;' 

a  disclaimer  which  is  careful  to  specify  that  the  title  is 
not  at  all  inappropriate.  The  only  thing  he  forgets  is, 
that  for  a  preacher  who  has  so  ably  denounced  the  sin 
of  wrath,  it  is  hardly  consistent  to  give  such  an  emi- 
nent example  of  the  sin  in  his  own  person :  — 

He  looked  as  it  were  a  wilde  boor; 

He  grinte  with  his  teeth,  so  was  he  wrooth. 

All  this  is  humorous  enough  on  the  surface  of  things ; 
but  to  one  who  knows  something  of  the  high  ideals 
which  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic  set  before  their 
orders  of  mendicants,  and  something  of  the  great  work 
for  humanity,  and  for  true  religion,  which  these  orders 
achieved  in  the  early  days  of  their  purity,  this  picture 
of  degradation  has  more  of  tragedy  than  of  comedy. 
It  is  precisely  the  greatest  tragedy  and  the  most 
inexplicable  mystery  of  our  little  life,  that  the  great 
institutions  founded  by  our  wisest  and  best  for  the 
attainment  of  the  noblest  aims  should,  almost  without 
exception,  develop,  sooner  or  later,  into  instruments 
of  positive  evil.  The  friar  does  not  sin  in  ignorance ; 
his  long  sermon  shows  that  he  had  all  the  precepts  of 
his  pious  founder  at  the  tip  of  his  oily  tongue  ;  but 
these  precepts  have  become  a  hollow  mockery,  and 
worse.  Unfortunately,  the  testimony  of  Chaucer  does 
not  stand  alone.  Boccaccio,  Gower,  Langland,  and 
Wiclif,  men  of  very  diverse  temperaments  and  preju- 
dices, all  agree  with  Chaucer  in  painting  the  mendi- 
cant orders  as  hopelessly  corrupt  —  a  thinly  whited 
sepulchre  filled  with  dead  men's  bones. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  CANTERBURY  TALES,  GROUPS  E,  F,  G,  H,  I 

THE  CLERK'S  TALE 

APPARENTLY  the  university  students  of  the  fourteenth 
century  were  as  diverse  a  lot  as  those  of  the  present 
day.  Clerk  Nicholas  of  the  Miller's  Tale,  with  his 
gay  sautrye,'  and  the  two  Cambridge  students  who 
take  their  mischievous  revenge  on  the  Miller  of  Trump- 
ington,  represent  one  species  of  the  genus ;  while  the 
poor  clerk  of  the  Canterbury  pilgrimage  belongs  to 
the  class  which  we  thoughtlessly  dismiss  with  the  word 
*  grind.'  Lean  he  is  of  figure,  sober  of  his  bearing, 
threadbare  as  to  his  coat :  — 

For  him  was  lever  have  at  his  beddes  heed 

Twenty  bokes,  clad  in  blak  or  reed, 

Of  Aristotle  and  his  philosophye, 

Than  robes  riche,  or  fithele,  or  gay  sautrye. 

Of  studie  took  he  most  cure  and  most  hede. 

Sharply  contrasted  with  the  ready  assurance  of  'hende 
Nicholas  '  is  the  bashful  reserve  of  this  nameless  Clerk 
of  Oxenf  ord :  — 

'  Sir  clerk  of  Oxenford,'  our  hoste  sayde, 

'  Ye  ryde  as  coy  and  stille  as  dooth  a  inayde, 

Were  newe  spoused,  sitting  at  the  bord ; 

This  day  ne  herde  I  of  your  tonge  a  word. 

I  trow  ye  studie  aboute  som  sophyme.' 

So  academic  is  his  bearing,  that  the  Host  feels  it  neces- 
sary to  request  that  he  refrain  from  preaching,  and  from 
too  scholarly  a  manner  of  speech.  But  the  Clerk  is  no 


254      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

mere  mechanical  '  grind.'  We  discover  the  eager  play 
of  an  active  and  original  mind  in  his  very  way  of  speak- 
ing, '  short  and  quik,  and  ful  of  hy  sentence.'  It  is  a 
delight  to  see  the  sudden  flash  of  enthusiasm  with  which 
he  refers  to  the  great  and  worthy  clerk,  Fraunceys 
Petrark.  That  he  is  by  no  means  lacking  in  a  healthy 
vein  of  roguish  humor,  the  closing  stanzas  of  his  tale 
show  clearly  enough.  That  the  Host's  warning  against 
too  lofty  and  pedantic  a  style  was  superfluous,  the  tale 
itself  may  bear  witness.  It  is  written  in  'an  honest 
method,  as  wholesome  as  sweet,  and  by  very  much  more 
handsome  than  fine.' 

In  response  to  the  Host's  command  to  tell  a 
Scarves.  .       ,     y-     , 

tale,  the  Clerk  says :  — 

I  wol  yow  telle  a  tale  which  that  I 
Lerned  at  Padowe  of  a  worthy  clerk, 
As  proved  by  his  wordes  and  his  werk. 
He  is  now  deed  and  nayled  in  his  cheste, 
I  prey  to  god  so  yeve  his  soule  reste! 
Fraunceys  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete, 
Highte  this  clerk. 

/ 

Chaucer's  tale  of  Griselda  is,  indeed,  only  a  close  trans- 
lation of  Petrarch's  Fable  of  Obedience  and  Wifely 
Faith,  which  is  in  its  turn  a  somewhat  freer  Latin  ren- 
dering of  the  tenth  novella  of  the  tenth  day  in  Boccac- 
cio's Decameron.  Prefixed  to  Petrarch's  rendering  of 
the  tale  is  a  Latin  letter  to  Boccaccio  telling  how  the 
translation  came  to  be  made.  Though  Petrarch  and 
Boccaccio  were  close  friends,  and  though  the  Decameron 
had  been  written  at  least  twenty  years  earlier,  Petrarch 
seems  not  to  have  read  it  till  a  year  or  two  before  his 
death,  which  occurred  in  1374.  Even  then  Petrarch 
found  the  book  too  big  to  read  through.  He  merely 
glanced  over  the  greater  part  of  it,  reading  carefully 
only  the  introductory  description  of  the  plague  and 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  255 

the  concluding  tale  of  Griselda.  The  latter  impressed 
him  so  deeply  that  he  committed  it  to  memory,  and  was 
in  the  habit  of  repeating  it  to  his  friends.  Wishing  to 
make  it  current  among  those  who  knew  no  Italian,  he 
found  leisure  to  turn  it  into  Latin,  retelling  it  in  his 
own  words,  adding  and  changing  a  little  here  and  there. 
That  Chaucer  used  Petrarch's  version  rather  than 
Boccaccio's  original  we  know  from  the  Clerk's  explicit 
statement.  Independently  of  that,  a  comparison  of  the 
three  versions  establishes  the  fact  beyond  shadow  of 
doubt.  Great  as  is  Chaucer's  debt  to  Boccaccio,  we  have 
no  evidence  that  he  ever  read  a  line  of  the  work  on 
which  Boccaccio's  fame  now  chiefly  rests.  The  problem 
of  Boccaccio's  sources  for  the  tale  is  a  puzzling  one,  and 
fortunately  is  of  no  immediate  concern  to  the  student 
of  Chaucer.  We  may  notice,  however,  that  the  tale  is 
found  in  a  collection  of  French  Fabliaux,  ou  Contes 
du  XHIe  et  du  XHIIe  Siecle,  edited  by  Le  Grand 
(1781).1 

If  the  question  of  Chaucer's  source  for  the  Clerk's 
Tale  is  a  simple  one,  very  complicated  is  the  question 
as  to  the  exact  way  in  which  Petrarch's  fable  The  gu 
reached  him.   The  Clerk  of  Oxenf  ord  is  made  posed  Meet. 
to  say  that  he  learned  the  tale  at  Padua  from 


the  worthy  clerk,  Fraunceys  Petrark  ;  and  this  and 
has  been  taken  to  mean  that  Chaucer  himself 
heard  the  story  from  Petrarch's  lips.  At  first  blush  there 
is  much  to  lend  probability  to  this  interpretation.   Pe- 
trarch's version  of  the  tale  was  made  in  1373,  while  the 
'  laureat  poete  '  was  actually  living  at  Arqua,  a  suburb 
of  Padua  ;  and  1373  is  the  date  of  Chaucer's  first  visit 
to  Italy.    What  more  likely  than  that  Chaucer  should 
have  sought  out  the  chief  man  of  letters  in  all  Italy, 

1  An  abstract  of  the  fabliau  is  given  in  Originals  and  Analogues  to 
Borne  of  Chaucer  's  Canterbury  Tales,  pp.  527-537. 


256      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

and  that  Petrarch,  who,  we  know,  was  in  the  habit  of 
reciting  the  tale  to  his  friends,  should  have  entertained 
his  guest  with  the  fable  of  Griselda?  If  it  is  objected 
that  Chaucer's  version  follows  Petrarch's  so  closely  that 
he  must  have  had  the  Latin  text  before  him  as  he  wrote, 
it  is  plausibly  suggested  that  Petrarch  presented  his 
visitor  with  a  manuscript  of  the  tale  as  a  parting  gift. 
Professor  Skeat  is  so  sure  of  the  interpretation  that  he 
insists  that  any  one  who  doubts  it  must  accuse  Chaucer 
of  deliberate  falsehood.  Chaucer's  romantic  biographer, 
Godwin,  even  tells  us  just  how  the  two  poets  felt  on 
meeting,  and  what  each  said  to  the  other. 

Nevertheless,  there  have  long  been  skeptics  to  doubt 
this  pleasing  theory.  Professor  Lounsbury,  after  call- 
ing attention  to  the  fact  that  the  Canterbury  Tales  is  a 
dramatic  composition,  and  that  it  is  the  Clerk  of  Oxen- 
ford  and  not  Chaucer  who  says  he  learned  the  tale  from 
Petrarch  at  Padua,  sums  up  with  the  sentence :  '  We 
can  creditably  and  honestly  try  hard  to  think  that  the 
two  poets  met ;  but  with  the  knowledge  we  at  present 
possess,  we  have  no  right  to  assert  it.' 1  Much  as  we 
should  like  to  believe  a  story  which  appeals  so  strongly 
to  our  sense  of  what  ought  to  have  been,  I  fear  that 
in  view  of  recent  investigations,  even  the  cautious  posi- 
tion of  Professor  Lounsbury  is  no  longer  tenable.  Mr. 
F.  J.  Mather,  after  carefully  investigating  the  exact 
date  of  Petrarch's  composition  of  the  fable,  and  the 
chronology  of  Chaucer's  Italian  journey,  and  looking 
into  the  conditions  of  traveling  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  has  come  to  the  following  conclusions.2  For 
Petrarch's  translation  of  the  Griselda  story  '  any  date  in 
the  early  months  of  1373  is  possible,  any  date  earlier 

1  Studies  in  Chaucer,  1.  68. 

2  '  On  the  asserted  meeting  of  Chaucer  and  Petrarca,'  Modern  Lan- 
guage Notes,  12.  1-11. 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  257 

than  April  is  improbable.'  The  mission  of  which 
Chaucer  was  a  member  was  sent  primarily  to  conduct 
business  at  Genoa.  Leaving  England  on  December  1, 
1372,  it  could  not  have  reached  Genoa  much  before 
February  1,  1373.1  On  reaching  Genoa,  Chaucer  was 
detached  from  his  associates  and  sent  on  special  busi- 
ness to  Florence.  Supposing  that  he  made  no  stay  in 
Genoa,  he  may  have  been  in  Florence  about  February 
10.  He  was  apparently  back  in  Genoa  by  March  23. 
The  length  of  his  possible  stay  in  Florence  is  thus  seen 
to  be  only  a  few  weeks;  and  diplomatic  business  is  usu- 
ally not  very  quickly  dispatched.  Moreover,  a  journey 
from  Florence  to  Padua,  easy  enough  in  the  day  of  rail- 
ways, was  then  to  be  accomplished  only  by  a  long  and 
dangerous  ride  over  mountain  roads,  still  made  diffi- 
cult by  the  winter's  snow.  It  seems  improbable  that 
Chaucer  made  this  wide  detour,  but  if  he  did,  he  could 
not  have  been  in  Padua  later  than  March  15,  a  date  too 
early  for  the  probable  composition  of  Petrarch's  Latin 
version. 

We  cannot  assert  positively  that  Petrarch  and  Chaucer 
did  not  meet ;  but  in  the  absence  of  any  positive  evi- 
dence of  their  meeting,  we  must  admit  that  the  proba- 
bilities are  strongly  against  it.  As  for  Chaucer's  actual 
possession  of  the  tale,  Mr.  Mather  has  shown  that  it 
speedily  became  popular,  and  that  manuscripts  of  it 
were  early  multiplied.  That  Petrarch  was  dwelling  near 
Padua,  Chaucer  might  easily  have  learned  without 
coming  within  two  hundred  miles  of  the  place. 

What  we  shall  think  of  the  Clerk's   Tale  will  be 
largely  determined  by  what  we  think  of  the  Grisel(ja 
woman  about   whose  personality  the   whole  the  Patient. 

1  An  allowance  of  two  months  for  the  journey  to  Genoa  is  probably 
excessive.  On  his  second  Italian  Toyape  of  1378,  Chaucer  was  absent 
from  England  less  than  four  months.  The  second  journey,  however,  was 
made  in  the  summer,  when  traveling  was  doubtless  easier. 


258      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

action  centres.  We  are  shown  a  young  peasant-girl  of 
blameless  life,  who  is  suddenly  taken  from  her  daily 
round  of  unremitting  toil  and  frugal  simplicity  to  be 
made  first  lady  of  a  great  domain.  The  sweet  nobility 
of  her  character  is  raised  far  above  the  play  of  outward 
circumstance.  She  fills  her  new  station  as  naturally  and 
simply  as  she  had  tended  sheep  or  turned  her  spinning- 
wheel  ;  she  gives  to  her  husband  the  same  unfeigned, 
unstinted  love  and  devotion  that  she  had  given  to  her 
old  and  feeble  father.  With  a  character  such  as  this, 
and  with  great  beauty  of  person  as  its  fitting  shrine,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  Marquis  Walter  loved  her,  and  that 
his  people  came  to  look  upon  her  as  the  brightest  star 
of  all  their  land.  A  character  which  can  stand  sudden 
prosperity  without  receiving  a  flaw  can  also  stand  ad- 
versity. With  unquestioning  obedience  she  suffers  her 
children  to  be  snatched  from  her,  and  herself  to  be  sup- 
planted by  an  unknown  rival.  The  crowning  instance 
of  her  wonderful  patience  is  her  prayer  to  Walter  to 
spare  his  new-found  lady :  — 

'  O  thing  biseke  I  yow  and  warne  also, 
That  ye  ne  prikke  with  no  tormentinge 
This  tendre  mayden,  as  ye  han  don  mo; 
For  she  is  fostred  in  hir  norishinge 
More  tendrely,  and,  to  my  supposinge, 
She  coude  nat  adversitee  endure 
As  coude  a  povre  fostred  creature.' 

Here  is  no  word  of  reproach ;  though  the  reproach  in- 
evitably implied  is  heavy  enough.  Notice  the  carefully 
guarded  phrase,  '  as  ye  han  don  mo,'  where  mo  means 
not  me  but  more,  'as  you  have  done  to  others.'1 

1  Petrarch's  Latin  reads :  '  Unum  bona  fide  te  precor  ac  moneo,  ne 
lianc  illis  aculeis  agites,  quibus  alteram  agitasti.'  Boccaccio  is  a  little 
more  definite  :  '  Ma  quanto  posso  vi  priego,  che  qnelle  pnnture,  le  quali 
air  altra,  che  vostra  fu,  gia  deste,  non  diate  a  questa.'  (But  I  beg  you 
•with  all  my  might  that  you  give  not  to  this  woman  those  pricks  which 
you  gave  to  the  other  who  was  yours.) 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  259 

What  are  we  to  think  of  this  matchless  patience? 
Most  modern  readers,  particularly  women  readers,  I 
suppose,  will  think  it  ridiculous,  if  not  positively  crim- 
inal. Imagine  a  convention  of  woman's  rights  advocates 
debating  the  conduct  of  Griselda !  '  Miserable,  weak- 
spirited  creature ! '  one  hears  them  shriek.  But  those 
were  the  days  when  women  still  promised  at  the  altar 
to  obey  their  lords,  and  considered  the  promise  as 
something  more  than  a  meaningless  phrase.  Moreover, 
Griselda  was  not  only  her  husband's  wife,  but  his  subject 
as  well ;  and  the  obligation  of  the  vassal  to  obey  the 
lord  was  only  less  sacred  than  man's  obligation  to  obey 
his  God.  Griselda  merely  lives  up  strictly  to  the  letter 
and  spirit  of  her  obligation,  and,  one  may  add,  to  the 
letter  and  spirit  of  the  command  that  we  '  resist  not 
evil,'  a  command  which  our  modern  world  has  agreed  to 
ignore.  But,  some  one  exclaims,  is  not  a  woman's  first 
duty  to  protect  her  offspring,  and  is  not  Griselda  vir- 
tually an  accomplice  before  the  act  to  what  she  supposes 
to  be  the  murder  of  her  children  ?  A  duty,  doubtless, 
and  a  sacred  one ;  but  by  what  authority  do  we  call  it 
her  '  first  duty '  ?  Mothers  have  been  known  to  urge 
their  sons  on  to  almost  certain  death  in  battle ;  and  the 
deed  has  been  called  one  of  noble  patriotism.  There  is  an 
old  story,  not  yet  quite  forgotten,  of  a  father  who  stood 
ready  to  sacrifice  an  only  son,  at  what  he  believed  to  be 
the  command  of  his  God.  He  may  have  been  mistaken ; 
Griselda  may  have  been  mistaken ;  perhaps  we  shall 
one  day  be  so  civilized  that  the  Spartan  mother  will 
no  longer  be  held  up  as  a  model.  The  question  of  pre- 
cedence in  moral  duties  is  a  more  troublesome  one  than 
any  that  has  vexed  the  master  of  ceremonies  at  a  court 
levee  ;  and  each  age  must  be  left  to  settle  the  matter  for 
itself.  Griselda  merely  put  in  practice  what  all  her 
contemporaries  held  in  theory.  Petrarch  was  a  man  of 


260      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

enlightened  views,  far  in  advance  of  his  age ;  yet  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  to  question  the  Tightness  of  her  conduct. 
He  tells,  in  one  of  his  letters,  how  he  once  gave  the  tale 
to  a  friend,  and  asked  him  to  read  it  aloud.  The  friend 
broke  down  in  the  middle  of  the  reading,  and  could  not 
continue  for  his  tears.  I  am  not  arguing  the  question 
on  its  merits ;  I  merely  insist  that  he  who  would  read 
the  tale  aright  must  imaginatively  think  himself  into 
the  spirit  of  a  time  long  past,  in  which  men  held  princi- 
ples quite  other  than  ours,  but  in  which,  as  in  our  own, 
there  were  found  those  who  would  answer  unflinchingly 
to  the  stern  voice  of  duty.  Unquestioning  obedience 
to  duty  is  a  quality  too  noble  and  too  rare  in  any  age  to 
suffer  us  to  question  too  nicely  the  occasion  which  calls 
it  forth.  The  tale  is,  as  Ten  Brink  calls  it,  '  the  Song 
of  Songs  of  true  and  tender  womanhood.' 

Just  what  Chaucer  himself  thought  of  Griselda  is 
not  entirely  clear  to  me.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  tale 
he  makes  the  teller  say :  — 

This  storie  is  seyd,  nat  for  that  wyres  sholde 

Folwen  Grisilde  as  in  humilitee, 

For  it  were  importable,  though  they  wolde; 

But  for  that  every  wight,  in  his  degree, 

Sholde  be  constant  in  adversitee 

As  was  Grisilde. 

The  difficulty  of  interpretation  lies  in  the  word  *  importa- 
ble,' which  means '  unbearable.' l  Does  it  mean  that  such 
conduct  would  be  unbearable  to  others,  or  that  a  woman 
who  should  strive  to  follow  Griselda  would  be  unable 
to  bear  the  strain  ?  The  context  seems  to  me  to  favor 
the  latter  interpretation,  in  which  case  we  shall  conclude 
that  Chaucer  considered  Griselda's  humility  entirely 
right,  but  for  the  majority  of  women  an  unattainable 
ideal.  The  roguish  reference  to  the  Wife  of  Bath,  and 
1  Of.  Canterbury  Tales,  B  3792  :  '  Hia  peynes  weren  importable.' 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  261 

the  humorous  envoy  which  follow  are  merely  intended 
to  restore  the  playful  tone  which  Chaucer  wished 
should  dominate  the  Canterbury  Tales. 

One  dramatic  problem  of  peculiar  difficulty  is  pre- 
sented   by  the   character  of   the  Marquis,  Griselda's 
husband.   The  plot  of  the  story  demands  that  ^^ 
he  shall  act  with  wanton  cruelty,  and  cause  his  Marquis 
wife  twelve  years  of  needless  sorrow.   Yet  it      a  te 
was  not  possible  to  paint  him  as  a  heartless  villain ;  for 
Griselda  must  not  only  obey  him,  but  love  him.   This 
fundamental   inconsistency   cannot   be   removed;   but 
the  art  of  the  story  is  shown  in  the  extent  to  which  it 
is  concealed. 

The  opening  sections  of  the  tale  present  him  in  a 
distinctly  favorable  light.  He  is  young,  handsome,  and 
good-natured :  — 

A  fair  persone,  and  strong,  and  yong  of  age, 
And  ful  of  honour  and  of  curteisye, 
Discreet  ynogh  his  contree  for  to  gye. 

All  his  people  love  him,  both  lords  and  commons.  He 
has  no  vices ;  in  light-hearted  carelessness  he  spends  his 
time  a-hawking  and  a-hunting.  Though  he  was 

To  speke  as  of  linage, 
The  gentilleste  yborn  of  Lumbardye, 

he  is  quick  to  discern  the  true  nobility  of  a  peasant  girl; 
and,  far  from  entertaining  any  dishonorable  designs 
upon  her,  is  ready  to  make  her  his  wife,  and  treat  her 
as  his  equal.  It  is  easy  to  see  the  grounds  of  his  gen- 
eral popularity. 

Yet,  withal,  there  is  an  unlovely  side  to  his  nature ; 
he  is  essentially  selfish,  a  spoiled  child.  He  neglects 
affairs  of  state,  thinking  only  of  his  own  pleasure.  It 
is  obviously  his  duty  to  marry  and  beget  an  heir;  yet 
he  prefers  bachelor  freedom,  and  has  to  be  reminded 
of  his  duty  by  a  delegation  of  his  subjects.  He  is  too 


262      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

good-natured  to  refuse  the  request ;  but  willfully  declines 
the  offer  of  his  lords  to  choose  a  fitting  consort  for  him, 
and  asserts  his  liberty  of  action  by  flying  in  the  face  of 
conventionality  and  wedding  a  peasant.  There  is  surely 
as  much  of  pride  as  of  generosity  in  his  action ;  and  one 
is  tempted,  too,  to  think  that  he  foresees  less  interfer- 
ence to  his  liberty  from  a  wife  who  is  his  inferior. 

He  has  his  way,  weds  Griselda,  and  is  proud  to  find 
his  eccentric  choice  justified  by  Griselda's  popularity, 
and  by  her  dignity  in  her  new  position.  He  is  fond  of 
her  as  a  spoiled  boy  is  fond  of  a  favorite  horse,  and  in 
mere  pride  of  possession  proceeds  to  put  her  through 
her  paces.  As  the  reckless  horseman  is  not  contented 
that  his  mare  can  take  an  ordinary  hedge  or  ditch,  but 
keeps  trying  her  at  harder  barriers  to  test  the  limits 
of  her  excellence,  so  Walter  devises  still  harder  tests  of 
his  wife's  patience  and  obedience.  He  does  not  mean  to 
be  cruel;  he  believes  in  his  wife,  and  intends  to  set  all 
right  in  the  end ;  he  loves  her  after  a  selfish  fashion. 
Even  when  all  is  over,  he  feels  no  particle  of  remorse ;  he 
has  restored  to  her  her  children  and  the  incomparable 
blessing  of  his  own  love.  But  those  twelve  years ! 

THE  MERCHANT'S  TALE 

Whatever  Chaucer  may  have  thought  of  Griselda  as 
an  ideal  of  womanhood,  he  was  quite  aware  that  actual 
realizations  of  the  ideal  are  not  over-numerous.  The 
fabulous  Chichevache,  who  feeds  only  on  patient  wives, 
is  never  in  danger  of  a  surfeit.  Having  depicted  a  wife 
of  the  type  of  Griselda,  the  poet  restores  the  balance  of 
actuality  by  telling,  in  the  person  of  the  Merchant,  the 
not  very  edifying  tale  of  January  and  May. 

As  seen  at  the  Tabard  Inn,  on  the  eve  of  the  Canter- 
bury pilgrimage,  no  one  would  have  suspected  the  skel- 
eton in  the  prosperous  merchant's  domestic  closet.  His 


THE  MERCHANT'S  TALE  263 

forked  beard,  his  Flemish  beaver  hat,  his  '  botes  clasped 
f aire  and  f etisly,'  his  self-satisfied  manner  of  speech,  — 

Souninge  alway  th'encrees  of  his  winning, 
suggest  no  hidden  tragedy.   But  he  has  listened  with 
strange  feelings  to  the  Clerk's  story  of  Griselda,  who 
suffered  twelve  long  years  without  a  murmur.  He,  poor 
man,  has  been  married  but  two  months,  — 

'  And  yet,  I  trowe,  he  that  al  his  lyve 
Wyflees  hath  been,  though  that  men  wolde  him  ryve 
Unto  the  herte,  ne  coude  in  no  manere 
Tellen  so  muchel  sorwe,  as  I  now  here 
Coude  tellen  of  my  wyves  cursednesse  ! ' 

The  Host,  it  will  be  remembered,  has  some  experience 
in  conjugal  infelicity,  and  readily  enough  gives  the 
Merchant  leave  to  tell  his  tale. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Merchant's  Tale  is,  as  far  as 
we  know,  Chaucer's  original  creation ;  only  the  climax 
of  the  tale,  the  scene  in  the  garden,  where  the 
blind  husband  recovers  his  sight  just  in  time 
to  witness  his  wife's  infidelity,  and  is  persuaded  that  all 
was  done  for  his  own  good,  can  be  traced  to  an  earlier 
original.  The  particular  version  of  this  '  pear-tree  story ' 
which  Chaucer  used  is  not  known  to  us;  but  several 
analogous  tales,  European  and  Oriental,  are  given  in 
the  Chaucer  Society's  volume  of  Originals  and  Ana- 
logues,1 which  may  be  read  and  compared  by  those  who 
think  it  worth  while  to  trace  the  genesis  of  a  tale  which 
was  hardly  worth  telling  in  the  first  place.  Of  these 
analogues,  the  best  known  is  the  ninth  novella  of  the 
seventh  day  in  Boccaccio's  Decameron.  This,  though 
obviously  a  related  tale,  differs  materially  from  the  ver- 
sion Chaucer  must  have  followed,  the  element  of  the 
husband's  blindness  being  entirely  lacking.  Even  in 
the  portion  of  the  tale  which  is  borrowed,  Chaucer's 
»  Pp.  177-188,  341-364. 


264      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

originality  may  be  seen.  As  Tyrwhitt  says :  '  Whatever 
was  the  real  origin  of  this  tale,  the  machinery  of  the 
faeries  which  Chaucer  has  used  so  happily,  was  probably 
added  by  himself ;  and  indeed,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  his  Pluto  and  Proserpina  were  the  true  progenitors 
of  Oberon  and  Titania,  or  rather,  that  they  themselves 
have,  once  at  least,  deigned  to  revisit  our  poetical  sys- 
tem under  the  latter  names.' 

Chaucer's  tale  has  been  retold  by  Pope  under  the  title 
of  January  and  May.1 

Whatever  one  may  think  of  the  merits  of  the  Mer- 
chant's Tale,  it  will  not  do  to  dismiss  it,  as  does  a  recent 
The  Tale  writer  on  Chaucer,  as  a  mere '  tale  of  harlotry ; ' 
itself  for  the  poet's  chief  interest  in  the  story  cen- 
tres not  in  its  adulterous  denouement,  but  in  the 
humorous  character-sketch  of  old  January.  The  doting 
gray-beard  has  spent  his  godless  life  in  unbridled 
wantonness ;  and  now  that  he  is  sixty  years  and  more, 
and  the  spark  of  desire  is  burning  low,  he  decides  that 
the  comfort  and  happiness  of  his  declining  years,  and 
incidentally  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  will  be  furthered 
by  a  tardy  entrance  into  '  that  holy  bond  with  which  that 
first  God  man  and  womman  bond.'  Only  a  young  and 
beautiful  wife  will  answer  the  purpose ;  and  with  such 
a  one  old  January  foresees  a  life  of  unmixed  bliss :  — 

For  wedlok  is  so  esy  and  so  clene, 
That  in  this  world  it  is  a  paradys. 

The  sage  counsels  of  Justinus,  who  urges  objections 
manifold,  avail  as  much  as  good  advice  usually  avails  a 
man  who  is  already  decided :  — 

For  whan  that  he  himself  concluded  badde, 
Him  thoughte  ech  other  maimes  wit  so  badde, 

1  For  a  comparison  of  Pope's  version  with  the  original,  see  the  article 
by  A.  Schade,  in  Englische  Studien,  25.  1-130,  26.  161-228. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  TALE  265 

That  inpossible  it  were  to  replye 
Agava  his  chois,  this  was  his  fantasye. 

The  sycophant,  Placebo,  who  is  clever  enough  to  argue 
on  the  popular  side,  bears  away  the  palm  for  wisdom. 
Exceedingly  delicate  is  the  irony  with  which  Chaucer 
manages  this  debate,  and  proclaims  the  unending  hap- 
piness of  the  married  state,  while  making  it  quite  appar- 
ent all  the  while  that  for  January  the  roseate  vision  is 
to  be  but  mockery.  So  plausible  is  the  sarcastic  praise 
of  marriage  that  the  passage  beginning  :  — 

For  who  can  be  so  buxom  as  a  wyf  ? 
Who  is  so  trewe,  and  eek  so  ententyf 
To  kepe  him,  syk  and  hool,  as  is  his  make  ? 

has  actually  been  quoted,  in  all  seriousness,  to  show 
Chaucer's  '  perception  of  a  sacred  bond,  spiritual  and 
indestructible,  in  true  marriage  between  man  and 
woman ' ! l 

Foredoomed  inevitably  to  failure,  this  senseless 
union  of  '  crabbed  age  and  youth '  is  rendered  yet  more 
absurd  by  the  elaborate  marriage-feast,  which  Chaucer, 
contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  has  described  at  length, 
but  described  with  an  irony  all  the  more  biting  because 
of  its  apparent  good  faith :  — 

Whan  tendre  youthe  hath  wedded  stouping  age, 
Ther  is  swich  mirthe  that  it  may  nat  be  writen. 

When,  in  the  sequel,  the  entirely  natural  happens, 
and  *  f aire  f resshe  May '  plays  false  with  her  marriage 
vows,  she  carries  our  sympathies  with  her.  Not  that 
we  approve  of  her  conduct  exactly,  but  our  attention  is 
diverted  from  the  merely  lascivious  in  the  tale,  and  from 
the  moral  questions  involved,  to  the  eminent  poetic  jus- 
tice of  old  January's  cuckoldom.  An  immoral  tale  is 
made  to  subserve  a  sort  of  crude  morality. 

1  The  Prologue,  Kniqht's  Tale,  etc.,  edited  by  Richard  Morris,  Oxford, 
1895,  p.  xyiii,  and  Morley,  English  Writers,  2.  135,  256,  286. 


266      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Even  when  the  faithless  wife  occupies  the  centre  of 
attention,  it  is  the  cleverness  of  her  intrigue,  and  the 
sublime  audacity  of  her  inspired  self -vindication,  rather 
than  her  sensual  desires  which  interest  us ;  while  the  deli- 
cate conceit  of  an  overruling  providence  in  the  persons 
of  Pluto  and  Proserpine,  king  and  queen  of  faery,  who 
sagely  debate  the  wisdom  of  King  Solomon  and  of  Jesus 
jilius  Syrak)  relieves  the  essential  coarseness  of  the  tale. 
Even  in  the  realm  of  faery,  a  wife  will  have  her  way : 
Pluto  may  espouse  the  cause  of  the  injured  husband, 
but  the  queen  knows  a  subtler  magic  than  his  own. 

It  would  have  been  easy,  had  Chaucer  so  wished,  to 
give  the  tale  a  tragic  ending ;  but  it  is  conceived  from 
beginning  to  end  in  the  spirit  of  a  '  humor '  comedy  of 
Ben  Jonsou.  The  tragedy  is  there,  to  be  sure,  but  it  is 
concealed  so  successfully  from  its  victim  that  he  ends 
his  days,  for  aught  we  know,  in  the  paradise  of  fools 
whose  bliss  is  their  ignorance. 

The  Merchant's  Tale  was  written  when  Chaucer  was 
at  the  height  of  his  power,  after  he  had  already 
achieved  one  masterpiece  of  the  same  general  character 
in  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue.1  Immoral  the  tale 
certainly  is ;  but  its  immorality  is  not  insidious,  and 
the  spirit  of  broad  comedy  which  pervades  the  piece  is 
all  but  sufficient  to  sweeten  the  unwholesomeness  of  it. 

THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE 

When  Milton  in  II  Penseroso  wished  to  summon 
up  the  memory  of  Chaucer,  he  did  so  by  an  allusion  to 
the  Squire's  Tale:  — 

Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold, 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 

1  That  the  Merchant's  Tale  is  later  than  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue 
is  shown  by  the  direct  allusion  to  the  latter  at  line  16S5. 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  267 

And  who  had  Canace  to  wife, 
That  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass, 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass 
On  which  the  Tartar  King  did  ride. 

Another  of  England's  greater  poets,  the  author  of  the 
Faerie  Queene,  took  upon  himself  the  task  of  complet- 
ing the  half -told  story,  after  addressing  '  Dan  Chaucer ' 
in  terms  of  deepest  reverence  and  love.1  A  lesser  poet, 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  made  a  modernization  of  the  Squire's 
Tale,  entertained  the  idea  of  writing  a  conclusion  to  it, 
but  wisely  refrained.2  The  critic,  Warton,  placed  the 
tale  next  after  that  of  the  Knight  as  *  written  in  the 
higher  strain  of  poetry.' 

A  considerable  part  of  the  attention  which  this  tale 
has  received  is  due,  I  fancy,  to  the  very  fact  that  it 
was  left  half  told.  I  am  inclined  to  suspect  that  Chau- 
cer abandoned  the  work  because  he  did  not  know  how 
to  conclude  it ;  and  if  this  is  so,  any  attempt  on  our 
part  to  guess  its  conclusion  must  be  futile.  The  Tar- 
tar King  is  provided  with  a  wondrous  horse  of  brass,  on 
which  he  can  fly  '  as  hye  in  the  air  as  doth  an  egle,' 
and  in  the  space  of  four  and  twenty  hours  arrive  in 
whatsoever  land  he  will.  To  his  daughter,  Canace,  is 
given  a  magic  ring,  whose  virtue  is  such  that  with  it 
on  her  finger  she  shall  understand  the  voices  of  all 
the  birds  of  heaven  and  converse  with  them  in  their 
own  tongue,  and  a  mirror  in  which  all  the  deeds  of 
men  are  revealed  as  if  face  to  face.  There  is  a  magic 
sword,  too,  which  will  pierce  the  strongest  armor,  and 
like  Achilles'  spear  '  is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and 
cure.'  In  the  second  part,  Canace,  by  virtue  of  her 

1  Faerie  Queene,  Book  4,  Cantos  2  and  3. 

2  See  Lounsbury,  Studies  in  Chaucer,  3.  211-212.    One  John  Lane,  a 
friend  of  Milton's  father,  produced  in  1630  a  long  continuation  of  the 
tale,  which  has  been  published  by  the  Chaucer  Society.  It  is  miserable 
nonsense. 


268      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

ring,  learns  a  tale  of  unhappy  love  from  a  falcon,  who 
is,  we  must  suppose,  some  princess  laboring  under  an 
enchanter's  spell.  There  are  great  wars  toward.  With 
such  a  beginning,  what  is  not  possible  ?  The  imagina- 
tion roams  through  limitless  fields  of  pleasing  conjec- 
ture. The  very  name  of  magic  has  its  fascination  for 
our  poor  race  of  mortals,  shut  in  as  we  are  by  the 
relentless  barrier  of  the  possible  and  the  actual.  Any 
conclusion  which  Chaucer,  or  any  other  poet,  could 
have  written  would  be  barren  and  commonplace  com- 
pared with  our  vague  imaginings.  And  this  is  inevit- 
able in  the  very  nature  of  the  case.  Let  the  magic 
horse,  the  ring,  the  sword,  and  mirror  be  put  to  practi- 
cal use,  let  their  use  result  in  any  definite  achievements 
or  events,  and  they  are  immediately  vulgarized.  Once 
more  the  tyranny  of  the  actual,  if  not  the  possible, 
shuts  us  in ;  and  the  boundless  scope  of  the  imagina- 
tion is  narrowed  to  nothing.  An  exactly  similar  case  is 
presented  by  Coleridge's  wonderful  fragment,  Kubla 
Khan,  which  deals,  be  it  noticed,  with  the  same  Ori- 
ental dynasty  as  Chaucer's  tale,  Kubla  Khan  being  a 
grandson  of  Gengis  Khan,  whose  name  becomes  the 
Cambinskan  of  Chaucer.  This  poem  is  unfinished  for 
the  good  reason  that  it  could  not  be  finished ;  it  is  essen- 
tially a  fragment ;  and  so  great  is  Coleridge's  art  that 
the  fragment  may  be  said  to  constitute  a  distinct  lit- 
erary form.  Much  might  be  said  of  the  beauty  of  the 
incomplete,  of  the  desirability  of  leaving  things  half 
finished.  The  beauty  of  a  spring  day  is  in  large  mea- 
sure the  promise  of  summer  days  to  come,  which,  when 
they  come,  fall  often  below  our  expectation.  The  un- 
equaled  charm  of  a  noble  youth  rests  on  the  unlimited 
possibility  of  noble  action  which  lies  before  him.  The 
early  death  of  Keats  has  served  to  magnify  fourfold 
the  estimate  set  upon  his  work.  We  have  no  proof 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  269 

that  he  would  ever  have  surpassed  the  actual  achieve- 
ments he  has  left  to  us.  Indeed,  there  are  indications 
that  he  would  not  have  done  so.  Yet  such  is  the  power 
of  the  incomplete,  that  we  hear  critics  speak  of  him  as 
one  who  might  have  been  a  second  Shakespeare.  Or,  to 
take  an  example  from  what  might  have  been,  suppose 
that  Milton  had  been  cut  off  after  he  had  completed 
only  the  first  two  books  of  Paradise  Lost.  What 
should  we  not  have  expected  of  the  ten  remaining 
books  of  a  poem  which  opens  so  magnificently  ?  But 
we  have  the  poem  entire,  and  know  that  the  level  of 
the  first  two  books  was  higher  than  Milton  could  con- 
sistently maintain.  The  more  one  considers  the  keen- 
ness of  Chaucer's  critical  insight  and  the  strange 

*  elvishness'  of  his  character,  the  more  strongly  one  sus- 
pects that  Chaucer  recognized  this  power  of  the  incom- 
plete, and  deliberately  left  his  tale  half  told. 

In  no  case  has  Chaucer  more  happily  suited  the  tale  to 
the  character  of  the  teller  than  in  the  case  of  the  Squire. 
As  the  Knight,  his  father,  tells  a  noble  tale  of  tour- 
nament and  knightly  love,  so  his  son,  the  Squire,  turns 
naturally  to  a  theme  of  chivalry.  But  there  is  a  differ- 
ence. Warton  says  that  '  the  imagination  of  this  story 
consists  in  Arabian  fiction  engrafted  on  Gothic  chivalry.' 
It  is  in  the  days  of  our  youth  that  the  fiction  of  the  Ara- 
bian Nights  appeals  most  strongly  to  us.  Before  the 

*  shadows  of  our  prison  house  '  close  about  us,  we  are 
all  impatient  of  the  actual,  and  dream  of  the  infinite 
possibilities  that  might  follow  on  the  impossible.   The 
Knight  has  lived  his  life  and  worked  his  work,  and  so 
his  story,  however  ideal  in  its  spirit,  is  of  things  accom- 
plished, of  deeds  already  done.    The  Squire,  though 

He  had  been  somtyme  in  chivachye, 
In  Flaundres,  in  Artoys,  and  Picardye, 
And  born  him  wel,  as  of  so  litel  space, 


270      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

is  living  mainly  in  the  infinite  future,  where  all  things 
are  possible.  All  that  his  father  has  accomplished  is 
as  nothing  beside  what  he  intends  to  do.  His  charm, 
like  that  of  the  tale  he  tells,  is  in  large  measure  the 
charm  of  incompleteness. 

There  is  hardly  a  feature  of  the  Squire's  Tale  which 
does  not  find  its  parallel  in  the  Oriental  literature  of 
magic.  A  reader  whose  acquaintance  with  this 
literature  is  confined  to  the  Arabian  Nights 
will  find  such  parallels  in  abundance.1  But  no  single 
narrative  which  Chaucer  might  have  used  has  yet  been 
discovered.  Whether  any  such  narrative  existed,  or 
whether  Chaucer  merely  allowed  his  imagination  to  play 
freely  with  the  familiar  themes  of  Arabian  magic,  fill- 
ing in  his  background  with  such  scraps  of  knowledge 
about  Tartary  and  the  Far  East  as  he  had  picked  up  in 
reading  or  conversation,  we  cannot  say.  The  general 
character  of  the  tale,  and  in  particular  its  unfinished 
state,  would  favor  the  latter  theory. 

Professor  Skeat  tried  hard  to  prove  that  Chaucer's 
acquaintance  with  Gengis  Khan,  and  with  such  features 
of  local  color  as  his  story  presents,  was  derived  from 
the  famous  book  of  the  travels  of  Marco  Polo ;  but  this 
theory  has  been  shown  to  be  absolutely  without  foun- 
dation.2 Such  are  Chaucer's  mistakes  and  confusions 
that  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  he  could  have  had  any 
connected  account  of  the  Tartars  before  him.8 

1  The  whole  subject  has  been  investigated  with  great  thoroughness 
by  Mr.  W.  A.  Clouston,  in  an  article  entitled  On  the  Magical  Elements  in 
Chaucer's  Squire's  Tale,  appended  to  the  Chaucer  Society's  edition  of 
John  Lane's  continuation  of  the  Squire's  Tale. 

2  J.  M.  Manley, '  Marco  Polo  and  the  Squire's  Tale,'  Publications  of 
the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  11.  349-362. 

8  Perhaps  this  is  the  best  place  to  notice  another  exploded  theory, 
that  of  Professor  Brandl,  who  with  characteristic  German  ingenuity 
has  found  in  the  Squire's  Tale  an  elaborate  allegory  of  the  English 
court,  Cambinskan  representing  Edward  III,  and  Canace  his  daughter- 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  271 

THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE 

The  portrait  of  the  Franklin  in  the  General  Prologue, 
though  an  attractive  one,  hardly  does  full  justice  to  this 
*  worthy  vavasour.'  We  are  shown  a  prosperous  coun- 
try land-holder,  a  man  of  sixty  or  over,  we  may  suppose, 
with  beard  as  white  as  the  daisies  which  stud  his  spa- 
cious meadows,  and  with  countenance  as  ruddy  as  the 
wine  which  lies  in  his  well-stocked  cellar.  It  takes  no 
extraordinary  power  of  clairvoyance  to  know  that  his 
table  must  be  loaded  with  '  alle  deyntees  that  men  coude 
thinke,'  while  the  general  kindliness  and  good-nature  of 
his  bearing  tell  us  that  there  is  always  room  at  his  board 
for  another  guest.  We  like  the  good  man,  and  should 
be  glad  enough  to  receive  an  invitation  to  spend  a  week- 
end in  a  house  where  it  '  snows  meat  and  drink.'  But 
we  dismiss  him  from  our  thought  as  '  Epicurus  owne 
sone  '  for  his  good  living,  and  as  the  Saint  Julian  of  his 
country  for  generous  hospitality.  It  is  only  after  we 
have  traveled  a  day  or  two  with  him  on  the  Canterbury 
road,  and  heard  him  tell  his  noble  tale,  that  we  see  more 
intimately  into  his  life  and  aspirations. 

The  Franklin  has  much  in  common  with  the  better 
type  of  the  'self -made  man.'  He  has  at  his  disposal  all 
that  money  can  buy,  and  he  has  held  office  in  his  own 
county ;  but  he  is  uncomfortably  conscious  of  a  certain 
lack  of  '  gentility,'  —  betrayed  by  his  fondness  for  the 
words  '  gentil '  and  '  gentilesse,'  —  and  of  the  full  edu- 
cation which  would  adorn  his  prosperous  estate. 

'  But,  sires,  bycause  I  am  a  burel  man, 
At  my  biginning  first  I  yow  biseche 
Have  me  excused  of  my  rude  speche  ; 
I  learned  never  rethoryk  certeyn.' 

in-law  Constance,  second  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt  (Englische  Studien, 
12.  161).  This  fanciful  theory  has  been  demolished  by  Professor  Kit- 
tredge,  in  Englische  Studien,  13.  1-25. 


272      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

That  he  has  made  up  in  some  way  or  other  for  the  lack 
of  early  advantages,  is  shown  by  the  excellence  of  his 
tale,  and  by  the  more  or  less  learned  discussions  which 
he  rather  needlessly  introduces,  such  as  the  historical- 
mythological  catalogue  of  women  who  died  rather  than 
sully  their  honor,  which  occupies  lines  1366-1456.  His 
enlightened  views  and  sound  good  sense  are  shown  in 
the  opinion  he  expresses  of  astrology :  — 

And  swich  folye, 
As  in  our  dayes  is  nat  worth  a  flye. 

Once  he  indulges  in  one  of  the  figures  of  rhetoric  of 

which  he  has  professed  his  ignorance :  — 
But  sodeinly  bigonne  revel  newe 
Til  that  the  brighte  sonne  loste  his  hewe  ; 
For  th'orisonte  hath  reft  the  sonne  his  light ; 

but  his  good  sense  and  native  honesty  bring  him  down 
to  earth  again  in  the  line  which  follows :  — 
This  is  as  muche  to  seye  as  it  was  night. 
Conscious  that,  with  all  that  he  has  acquired  and  at- 
tained, he  can  never  be  quite  the  complete  gentleman,  he 
would  fain  be  the  father  of  a  gentleman ;  but  his  hopes 
are  disappointed  by  the  unfortunate  vulgar  procliv- 
ities of  his  son  and  heir.  To  the  gallant  young  squire  he 
says : — 

'  I  have  a  sone,  and,  by  the  Trinitee, 
I  hadde  lever  than  twenty  pound  worth  lond, 
Though  it  right  now  were  fallen  in  myn  bond, 
He  were  a  man  of  swich  discrecioun 
As  that  ye  been  !  fy  on  possessioun 
But-if  a  man  be  vertuous  withal. 
I  have  my  sone  snibbed,  and  yet  shal, 
For  he  to  vertu  listeth  nat  entende; 
But  for  to  pleye  at  dees,  and  to  despende, 
And  lese  al  that  he  hath,  is  his  usage. 
And  he  hath  lever  talken  with  a  page 
Than  to  commune  with  any  gentil  wight 
Ther  he  mighte  lerne  gentillesse  aright.' 


THE   FRANKLIN'S  TALE  273 

So  might  a  Toledo  oil-magnate  bewail  the  vicious  tend- 
encies of  the  son  whom  he  is  lavishly  maintaining  at 
Yale  or  Harvard.  Considering  this,  there  is  something 
of  pathos  as  well  as  fine  generosity,  in  the  enthusi- 
astic praise  which  the  Franklin  bestows  on  the  Squire 
for  his  noble  tale,  which  we,  alas !  can  never  hear  to  its 
end:  — 

*  In  feith,  Squier,  thou  hast  thee  wel  yquit, 
And  gentilly;  I  preise  wel  thy  wit.' 

This  outburst  of  praise  calls  the  Host's  attention 
to  the  Franklin;  and,  though  he  disposes  of  the  good 
man's  most  cherished  aspiration  with  a  contemptuous 
4  straw  for  your  gentillesse ! '  he  nevertheless  singles 
him  out  as  the  teller  of  the  next  tale. 

Were  it  not  that  in  other  instances  we  find  Chaucer 
assigning  a  fanciful,  rather  than  the  actual,  source  for 
his  compositions,  the   opening   lines  of   the 
Franklin's  Tale  would  seem  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  its  source  was  a  courtly  Breton  lay,  such  as 
those  that  have  come  down  to  us  in  French  dress  from 
the  hand  of  Marie  de  France. 

Thise  olde  gentil  Britons  in  hir  dayes 
Of  diverse  aventures  maden  layes, 
Rymeyed  in  hir  firste  Briton  tonge; 
Which  layes  with  hir  instruments  they  songe, 
Or  elles  redden  hem  for  hir  plesaunce; 
And  oon  of  hem  have  I  in  remembraunce, 
Which  I  shal  seyn  with  good  wil  as  I  can. 

But  no  such  lay  has  been  preserved  to  us.1  Tales  similar 

1  Dr.  W.  H.  Schofield  has  attempted  to  prove  from  an  account  of  a 
Briton  chieftain,  Arviragus,  in  Geoffrey  of  Monmonth'a  Historia,  that 
such  a  legend  actually  existed  in  South  Wales,  whence  it  was  carried 
to  Brittany,  and  written  up,  perhaps  with  accretions  from  another  source 
ultimately  Oriental,  by  a  poet  of  the  school  of  Marie  de  France.  (Publi- 
cations of  the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  16.  405-449.) 
The  argument  is  ingenious,  and  one  would  be  glad  to  accept  it ;  but  it 
consists  of  hypotheses  rather  than  of  evidence.  An  elaborate  refutation 


274      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

to  that  of  the  Franklin  have  been  found  in  Sanskrit,  Bur- 
mese, Persian,  and  other  Oriental  tongues  ;  and  a  still 
closer  parallel  is  offered  in  a  tale  told  by  Boccaccio  in  his 
early  prose  work  the  Filocolo,  and  again,  with  slight  va- 
riations, in  the  Decameron,  Day  10,  Nov.  5.1  In  Boccac- 
cio's version,  a  faithful  wife  promises  an  importunate 
lover,  of  whom  she  wishes  to  be  rid,  that  she  will  give 
him  her  love,  if  he  can  make  a  garden  bloom  and  bear 
fruit  in  mid-January.  The  lover  accomplishes  this  by 
the  help  of  a  magician ;  and  the  story  concludes  as  does 
the  Franklin's.  Of  the  two  parallel  tales  of  Boccaccio, 
that  in  the  Filocolo  is  somewhat  nearer  to  Chaucer's ; 
and  it  is  possible  that  Chaucer  may  have  drawn  his 
material  thence,  changing  the  scene  to  Brittany,  alter- 
ing the  names  in  accordance  with  this  change,  and  con- 
siderably modifying  the  story  itself;  but  it  is  more 
probable  that  his  source  was  a  French  fabliau,  closely 
related  to  the  source  whence  Boccaccio's  tale  was  drawn. 
The  fact  that  the  scene  was  laid  in  Brittany  would  be 
sufficient  to  explain  the  fanciful  attribution  to  a  Breton 
lai.  The  history  of  the  tale,  as  it  traveled  from  the  dis- 
tant east  to  Chaucer's  study,  was  probably  similar  to 
that  of  the  story  which  we  have  in  the  Pardoner's 
Tale.2  It  is  interesting  to  notice  that  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  have  utilized  the  plot  of  the  Franklin's  Tale 
for  a  one-act  play  entitled  The  Triumph  of  Honour. 
The  chief  beauty  of  this  tale  resides  in  the  noble 

of  Dr.  Schofield's  contention  is  given  by  P.  Rajna  in  Romania,  32.  204- 
267.  ('  Le  Origini  della  Novella  narrata  dal  Frankeleyn  nei  Canterbury 
Tales  del  Chaucer.') 

1  The  story  also  appears  in  the  twelfth  canto  of  Boiardo's  Orlando 
Innamorato.  See  Originals  and  Analogues  to  Some  of  Chaucer'1  s  Canterbury 
Tales,  pp.  289-340,  where  several  Oriental  versions  and  the  Decameron 
novella  are  given  in  translation.  For  the  relation  of  Chaucer's  version 
to  Boccaccio's,  see  the  article  by  P.  Rajna,  in  Romania,  32,  204-267. 
Kajn.-i's  conclusions  in  this  matter  the  present  writer  cannot  accept. 

3  Cf.  above,  p.  224. 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  275 

spirit  which  pervades  it.  The  unswerving  fidelity  of 
Dorigen,  who  cannot  make  merry  when  her  husband  is 
overseas,  and  who  unhesitatingly  rejects  the  Literary 
advances  of  her  lover  Aurelius ;  the  utmost  Qualities. 
loyalty  to  the  spoken  pledge,  which  impels  Arviragus 
to  send  his  wife  to  keep  a  promise,  though  spoken  in 
jest  —  are  so  potent  in  their  power  for  good  that  not 
only  the  passionate  lover,  but  the  poor  scholar  in  far- 
off  Orleans,  are  compelled  to  an  equal  nobility.  Ten 
Brink  says  of  the  poem  :  '  The  contagious  influence  of 
good,  proceeding  from  a  common  as  well  as  from  a 
noble  disposition,  and  the  wondrous  power  of  love,  are 
beautifully  symbolized  in  this  fable.  And  throughout 
all  his  story  Chaucer  gives  special  prominence  to  the 
idea  by  which  the  whole  receives  its  internal  comple- 
tion, viz.,  the  idea  that  love  and  force  mutually  exclude 
each  other,  while  patience  and  forbearance  belong  to 
the  very  essence  of  love.' 1 

Beautiful  as  is  this  picture  of  married  love,  Chaucer 
has  taken  care  that  it  shall  not  become  sentimental,  by 
touching  it  here  and  there  with  his  own  peculiar  humor. 
Thus  with  sly  ambiguity  he  asks,  after  describing  the 
bliss  of  Arviragus  and  Dorigen,  — 

Who  coude  telle,  but  he  had  wedded  be, 
The  joye,  the  ese,  and  the  prosperitee 
That  is  betwixe  an  housbonde  and  his  wyf  ? 

And  again  in  describing  the  grief  of  Dorigen  at  her 
husband's  departure  for  Britain  :  — 

For  his  absence  wepeth  she  and  syketh, 
As  doon  thise  noble  wyves  whan  hem  lyketh. 

After  giving  us  the  passionate  '  complaint '  uttered  by 
Aurelius  in  his  love-longing,  there  is  on  the  author's 
part  a  playful  assurance  of  his  own  unconcern :  — 

1  History  of  English  Literature  (English  trans.),  2.  169. 


276      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Dispeyred  in  this  torment  and  this  thoght 

Lete  I  this  woful  creature  lye  ; 

Chese  he,  for  me,  whether  he  wol  live  or  dye. 

The  poem  ends  in  the  manner  of  the  debat  literature 
so  popular  in  mediaeval  France,  with  a  question  addressed 
to  the  judicious  reader,  or  rather  to  the  members  of  the 
pilgrimage  :  — 

Lordinges,  this  question  wolde  I  aske  now, 
Which  was  the  moste  free,  as  thinketh  yow? 

Which  of  the  three  —  Arviragus,  who  sacrifices  his  wife 
to  his  sense  of  honor,  Aurelius,  who  foregoes  his  coveted 
opportunity,  or  the  clerk  of  Orleans,  who  in  remitting  his 
promised  fee,  showed  that  he  too  '  coude  doon  a  gentil 
dede '  —  shows  the  greatest  freedom,  i.  e.,  generosity  ? 
One  would  be  glad  to  hear  the  discussion  which  must  have 
arisen  among  the  company  when  this  question  was  pro- 
pounded ;  but  one  of  the  several  gaps  in  the  unfinished 
framework  of  the  Canterbury  Tales  follows  the  Frank- 
lin's Tale,  and  the  reader  is  left  to  imagine  the  debate, 
and  to  settle  the  burning  question  by  himself.  In  at- 
tempting the  question,  one  must  decide  whether  or  not 
the  terrible  sacrifice  of  Arviragus  was  necessary,  or  even 
justifiable.  Probably  most  modern  readers  will  decide 
that  it  was  neither.  A  jesting  promise  is  made  on  con- 
dition that  the  seemingly  impossible  be  performed.  By 
calling  in  the  aid  of  magic,  the  condition  is  fulfilled. 
Surely  it  is  a  hyperquixotic  sense  of  honor  which  shall 
insist  on  the  fulfillment  of  a  pledge  so  circumstanced. 
But  the  Middle  Age  apparently  admired  such  extreme 
conceptions  of  honor,1  and  I,  for  one,  am  not  willing 
to  say  that  they  were  wrong.  It  would  not  hurt  our 
modern  world  to  be  a  little  more  quixotic  in  its  sense 
of  honor.  I  am  quite  ready  to  grant  that  in  this  in- 

1  Cf.  The  tale  of  Nathan  and  Mithridanea,  in  Boccaccio's  Decani' 
eron,  Day  10,  Nov.  3. 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE  277 

stance  Arviragus  was  mistaken,  that  truth  did  not  de- 
mand the  sacrifice  ;  even,  if  you  will,  that  the  sacrifice 
should  not  have  been  made ;  and  yet  his  act  is  none  the 
less  a  noble  act.  I  cannot  see  that  its  spirit  is  very 
different  from  the  spirit  of  the  equally  quixotic  com- 
mand, '  If  any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law,  and  take 
away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloke  also.'  In  the 
event,  at  least,  Arviragus  is  justified ;  his  noble  deed 
begets  nobility  in  others ;  and  we  are  shown  once  more 
that  it  is  indeed  possible  to  overcome  evil  with  good. 

THE   SECOND  NUN'S  TALE 

Of  the  Second  Nun,  to  whom  the  manuscript  rubrics 
assign  the  legend  of  St.  Cecilia,  we  know  nothing  be- 
yond the  mere  fact  of  her  presence  in  the  pilgrim-com- 
pany as  attendant  on  the  Prioress.  At  the  end  of  the 
description  of  Madam  Eglantine  in  the  General  Pro- 
logue we  read :  — 

Another  Nonne  with  hir  hadde  she, 
That  was  hir  chapeleyne. 

Chaucer  has  provided  no  introductory  prologue  to  the 
tale  itself  to  inform  us  further  of  the  good  lady's  per- 
sonality, nor  of  the  circumstance  of  her  narration.  The 
appropriateness  of  tale  to  teller  is,  however,  obvious 
at  a  glance.  Like  the  tale  of  the  Prioress,  the  story 
breathes  that  spirit  of  peculiar  religious  exaltation 
which  we  associate  with  all  that  is  most  beautiful  in  the 
monastic  life. 

That  the  legend  of  St.  Cecilia  was  not  originally  in- 
tended for  its  present  place  as  one  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales  might  be  shown  from  the  internal  evi-  Date  of 
dence  of  the  tale  itself.  In  open  contradic-  Composition, 
tion  to  the  idea  of  oral  narration  on  the  pilgrimage  is 
line  78  :  - 

Yet  preye  I  yow  that  reden  that  I  loryte. 


278      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

Equally  inconsistent  is  line  62,  in  which  the  speaker 
refers  to  herself  as  '  unworthy  sone  of  Eve.'  We  have, 
however,  a  piece  of  external  evidence  on  the  question 
which  is  even  more  convincing.  In  the  Legend  of 
Good  Women  Dan  Cupid  says  of  the  poet :  — 

He  hath  in  prose  translated  Boe'ce, 
And  mad  the  Lyf  also  of  seynt  Cecyle. 

This  evidence  taken  together  may  be  held  to  prove 
that  the  tale  was  written  before  1385,  and  was  not 
revised  for  its  present  position. 

That  the  legend  was  written  after  Chaucer's  Italian 
journey  of  1373  is  rendered  probable  by  the  fact  that 
lines  36-51  are  translated  from  the  last  canto  of  Dante's 
Paradiso.  From  its  general  stylistic  qualities,  and  in 
particular  from  the  closeness  with  which  it  follows  its 
original,  critics  have  been  inclined  to  ascribe  it,  with 
Ten  Brink,  to  the  very  beginning  of  Chaucer's  so-called 
Italian  period,  that  is,  to  the  years  1373-74.  Proba- 
bility favors  this  ascription ;  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  we  have  no  positive  evidence  in  its  support.1 
The  source  of  the  Second  Nun's  Tale  is  suggested 
by  the  rubric  which  precedes  line  85 :  Interpretacio 
nomlnis  Cecilie,  quam  ponit  frater  Jacobus 
lanuensis  in  Legenda  Aurea.  This  Jacobus 
Januensis,  better  known  as  Jacobus  a  Voragine,  was  a 
Dominican  friar,  who  in  1292  was  consecrated  arch- 
bishop of  Genoa ;  and  his  Golden  Legend,  '  a  collec- 
tion of  the  legendary  lives  of  the  greater  saints  of  the 
mediaeval  church,'  was  one  of  the  most  popular  books 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  Professor  Koelbing  has  shown, 
however,  that  Chaucer's  original  was  a  Latin  life  of 
St.  Cecilia,  which,  though  closely  related  to  that  in  the 
Golden  Legend,  is  in  some  particulars  nearer  to  the 

1  Dr.  Koeppel,  in  Anglia,  14.  227-233,  favors  a  date  later  than  that 
of  Troilus  and  Criseyde. 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE  279 

life  of  the  saint  written  by  Simeon  Metaphrastes,1 
printed  in  a  collection  of  saints'  lives  by  Aloysius 
Liporaanus,  Louvain,  1571.  There  is  no  proof  that 
Chaucer  used  the  French  translation  of  the  Golden 
Legend  by  Jehan  de  Vignay,  nor  any  of  the  earlier 
English  accounts  of  St.  Cecilia.2 

Though  we  do  not  possess  Chaucer's  exact  original, 
we  know  from  the  extant  Latin  versions,  from  which  it 
probably  differed  only  in  minute  details,  that  his  trans- 
lation is  exceedingly  literal.  The  following  extract 
from  the  version  of  Metaphrastes  may  be  compared  with 
Chaucer's  corresponding  lines  :  '  Dixit  Almacius  prse- 
fectus:  Elige  tu  unum  ex  duobus,  aut  sacrifica  aut 
nega  te  esse  cristianam,  ut  delicti  tibi  detur  venia. 
Tune  dixit  ridens  sancta  Ca&cilia :  O  judicem  pudore 
necessario  affectum !  Vult  me  negare  et  esse  me  inno- 
centem,  ut  ipse  me  faciat  crimini  obnoxiam.' 3 

In  Chaucer's  English  this  becomes  :  — 

Almache  answerde,  '  chees  oou  of  thise  two, 
Do  sacrifyce,  or  Cristendom  reueye, 
That  thou  rnowe  now  escapen  by  that  weye.' 
At  which  the  holy  blisful  fayre  niayde 
Gan  for  to  laughe,  and  to  the  juge  seyde, 
1 0  juge,  conf  us  in  thy  nycetee, 
Woltow  that  I  reneye  innocence, 
To  make  me  a  wikked  wight  ? '  quod  she. 

This  passage  is  typical  of  Chaucer's  procedure  through- 
out, so  that  we  may  agree  with  Professor  Koelbing's 
assertion  that  '  apart  from  the  charming  versification, 
which  seems  splendidly  suited  to  the  subject,  Chaucer's 
proprietorship  in  the  composition  consists  only  in  single 
words  or  half  lines,  which  he  used  to  fill  out  his  verse.' 
Any  criticism  of  the  tale,  then,  must  be  a  criticism  of 

1  Englische  Studien,  1.  215-248. 

*  See  Originals  and  Analogues,  pp.  189-219. 

8  From  Koelbing's  article  cited  above,  p.  223. 


280      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

the  original  saint's  legend  rather  than  of  Chaucer.  It 
is  a  story  of  a  type  to  which  our  modern  world  is 
The  Tale  inclined  to  do  small  justice.  Full  as  it  is  of 
the  supernatural  and  the  impossible,  it  lends 
itself  readily  enough  to  the  laugh  of  the  mocker ; 
while  even  the  human  motives  of  the  saintly  heroine 
are  far  from  the  comprehension  of  to-day.  Yet  for  its 
pathos,  its  noble  spirit  of  high  religion,  above  all  for 
the  irresistible  force  of  Cecilia's  sweet  personality,  the 
tale  may  still  be  read  and  loved  by  all  whose  hearts  are 
not  completely  hardened.  Chaucer,  apparently,  took 
the  tale  quite  seriously ;  the  genuineness  of  its  religious 
feeling  cannot  be  questioned.  So  that  his  deliberate 
choice  of  theme,  not  in  the  first  place  for  the  Second 
Nun,  but  for  himself,  is  a  valuable  piece  of  testimony 
as  to  his  deeper  and  more  serious  life. 

Of  the  historical  Cecilia  little  is  known  beyond  what 
can  be  inferred  from  the  developed  legend.  Her  mar- 
tyrdom is  usually  assigned  to  the  reign  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander  Severus  (A.  D.  222-235)  ;  but  even  this  is 
not  certain.  St.  Cecilia's  present  fame  as  patroness  of 
music  and  inventor  of  the  organ  is  a  later  develop- 
ment, of  which  Chaucer  probably  never  heard.  The 
Cecilia  of  the  legend  sang  to  God  in  her  heart  '  whyl 
the  organs  maden  melodye,'  and  she  received  an  angel 
visitant ;  but  the  two  facts  are  unconnected,  and  the 
mention  of  the  organ  is  only  a  passing  one. 

THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE 
When  the  Second  Nun  has  finished  her  tale  of  St. 
Cecilia,  and  the  company  have  reached  the  little  village 
of  Boghton  under  Blee,  they  are  joined  by  two  new- 
comers, the  Canon  and  his  Yeoman,  who  have  ridden 
furiously  to  overtake  them,  fearing  perhaps  to  travel 
alone  through  the  robber-haunted  Forest  of  Blean. 


THE  CANON'S   YEOMAN'S  TALE          281 

The  black-clothed  Canon  speaks  but  little ;  but  his 
silence  is  more  than  atoned  for  by  the  garrulous  lo- 
quacity of  his  Yeornan.  Little  by  little  it  transpires 
that  the  Canon  is  a  practicer  of  alchemy.  The  Yeoman 
will  not  be  silenced :  — 

And  whaii  this  cbanon  saugh  it  wolde  nat  be, 

But  his  yeman  wolde  telle  his  privetee, 

He  fledde  awey  for  verray  sorwe  aud  shame. 

Chaucer  had  little,  if  any,  of  the  reformer's  spirit 
in  his  make-up ;  but  with  his  temperamental  tendency 
to  see  the  comic  in  human  life,  he  had  a  keen  interest 
in  hypocrisy  and  clever  imposture,  an  interest  which 
at  times  almost  extends  to  an  intellectual  admiration. 
With  lively  intellectual  interest,  but  with  no  trace  of 
bitterness,  he  shows  up  the  lying  devices  of  his  Par- 
doner. With  less  detail,  but  with  rich  humor,  Clerk 
Nicholas  in  the  Miller's  Tale  is  made  to  exemplify  the 
tricks  of  the  false  astrologer.  The  Canon's  Yeoman's 
Tale  is  a  complete  expose  of  alchemy  made  by  one  of 
its  victims,  and  consequently  made  with  a  personal  bit- 
terness that  has  led  many  critics  to  the  unwarranted 
supposition  that  Chaucer  himself  had  fallen  prey  to  the 
imposture.  Chaucer  may  have  believed,  as  did  all  the 
most  learned  of  his  time,  in  the  theoretical  possibility 
of  transmuting  the  baser  metals  into  gold.  The  fullness 
and  accuracy  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  subject,  as 
shown  in  the  tale  itself,  prove  that  his  intellectual 
curiosity  had  led  him  to  explore  the  mysteries  of  the 
science.  Even  the  Canon's  Yeoman's  Tale  itself  in- 
dicates no  active  disbelief  in  the  theory  of  alchemy. 
But  his  sound  common  sense  told  him  that  in  actual 
experience  the  search  for  the  philosopher's  stone  had 
been  but  a  pursuit  of  will-o'-the-wisp,  when  it  had  not 
been  downright  fraud  and  imposture.  We  can  be  sure, 
I  think,  that  the  only  use  Chaucer  made  of  alchemy  was 


282      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

in  transmuting  the  base  metal  of  human  greed  and  folly 
into  the  finer  gold  of  humor.  The  bitterness  of  the 
Oanon's  Yeoman's  Tale  is  the  dramatic  indignation 
of  the  Yeoman,  who  at  last  discovers  that  he  has  been 
made  a  gull.  Needless  to  say,  it  gives  the  highest  real- 
ism and  color  to  the  tale. 

When  his  master  takes  to  flight,  and  the  Yeoman 
finds  himself  free  of  the  incubus  that  has  for  seven  long 
years  possessed  him,  robbing  him  of  money  and  of 
health,  his  pent-up  scorn  finds  vent  in  a  long  rambling 
exposition  of  alchemical  mysteries.  He  has  learned  his 
lesson  well ;  and  the  '  terms  '  of  the  *  elvish  craft,'  '  so 
clergial  and  so  queynte,'  flow  freely  from  his  loosened 
tongue.  There  is  no  order  in  his  speech ;  and  the 
majority  of  his  terms  are,  of  course,  meaningless  to 
us.  The  total  effect  is  one  of  bewildering  confusion, 
precisely  the  effect  which  Chaucer  wished  to  produce. 
Deliciously  humorous  is  his  description  of  the  sudden 
bursting  of  the  pot  which  contained  the  mixture  which 
was  to  bring  great  wealth.  Some  said  this,  and  some 
said  that,  but  the  bitter  fact  remained  that  months  of 
labor  had  gone  for  nothing. 

The  first  part  of  the  tale  deals  with  the  futile  at- 
tempts of  serious  alchemy,  in  which  the  deceivers  are 
themselves  deceived,  and  all  alike  share  in  the  common 
failure.  The  second  part,  which  is  the  more  interest- 
ing, tells  of  the  clever  trick  of  legerdemain  by  which 
another  canon,  less  scrupulous  than  the  one  we  have 
met,  convinces  a  gullible  priest  that  he  actually  pos- 
sesses the  elixir,  and  disposes  of  his  worthless  receipt 
for  the  considerable  sum  of  forty  pounds. 

No  source  for  the  tale  is  known,  and  probably  none 
is  to  be  sought.  Very  likely  the  anecdote  of  the  second 
part  is  founded  on  an  actual  occurrence.  A  trick  closely 
similar  to  this  was  actually  perpetrated  in  New  York 


THE  MANCIPLE'S  TALE  283 

in  the  summer  of  1890.1  After  all,  the  chief  interest 
of  the  tale  lies  not  so  much  in  its  substance  as  in  the 
personality  of  the  Yeoman  who  relates  it. 

THE  MANCIPLE'S  TALE 

The  journey  to  Canterbury   is    nearly  ended,  and 
already  the  company  is  in  sight  of  a  little  town,  — 

Which  that  ycleped  is  Bob-up-and-doun, 
Under  the  Blee,  in  Caunterbury  weye. 

Meanwhile  honest  Hodge  of  Ware,  the  Cook  of  Lon- 
don, has  been  taking  advantage  of  his  vacation  days  to 
sample  the  wine  or  ale  of  every  wayside  tavern,  until  he 
has  got  himself  disgracefully  drunk.  He  talks  through 
his  nose,  breathes  heavily,  and  finally  falls  from  his 
horse  into  the  mire,  whence  he  is  raised  into  the  saddle 
again  only  after  much  shoving  and  lifting.  Obviously, 
he  is  in  no  condition  to  tell  the  tale  which  mine  Host 
demands  of  him  ;  so  that  the  Manciple's  ready  offer  to 
serve  in  his  stead  is  gladly  accepted.  On  the  first  day 
of  the  pilgrimage,  it  will  be  remembered,  the  Cook  had 
been  called  on  for  a  tale,  and  had  responded  with  the 
story  of  Perkin  Revelour,  which  Chaucer  left  unfin- 
ished after  the  fifty-eighth  line.  That  he  should  be 
called  on  a  second  time  is  proof  that,  when  the  Man- 
ciple's Prologue  was  written,  Chaucer  had  not  aban- 
doned his  original  plan,  as  announced  in  the  General 
Prologue,  that  each  of  the  pilgrims  should  tell  two 
tales  on  the  road  to  Canterbury,  and  other  two  on  the 
journey  home. 

The  tale  which  the  Manciple  tells  is  a  short  and  sim- 
ple one,  and  needs  no  long  exposition  here.  It  is  merely 

1  See  Dr.  C.  M.  Hathaway's  edition  of  Ben  Jonson's  Alchemist,  New 
York,  1903,  pp.  87,  88.  The  introduction  of  this  volume  contains  an 
interesting  history  of  alchemy,  its  theory  and  practice,  down  to  the 
present  day. 


284      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

a  clever  retelling  of  the  fable  of  Apollo  and  Coronis 
in  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  2.  531-632.  Chaucer  has 
somewhat  simplified  the  tale,  and  has  added  some  moral 
reflections  on  the  futility  of  trying  to  restrain  a  wife, 
and  on  the  undesirability  of  repeating  scandal,  the  latter 
taken  from  Albertano  of  Brescia's  treatise  on  the  Art 
of  Speaking  and  of  Keeping  Silence.1  The  same  tale  is 
told  by  Gower  in  Confessio  Amantis,  3.  783-830.  Mr. 
Clouston  has  shown  2  that  the  tale  is  ultimately  of  Ori- 
ental origin,  and  that  a  version  of  the  story,  independent 
of  that  given  by  Ovid,  was  brought  to  Europe  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  incorporated  into  the  popular  collec- 
tion of  tales  entitled  Li  Romans  des  Sept  Sages.  But 
Chaucer's  tale  was  probably  drawn  directly  from  Ovid, 
and  certainly  has  no  connection  with  this  version  last 
named. 

THE  PARSON'S  TALE 

In  the  life  of  the  fourteenth  century  the  Church 
played,  for  good  and  for  evil,  a  part  of  the  first  impor- 
tance, so  that  one  need  not  be  surprised  that  of  the 
nine  and  twenty  gathered  together  at  the  inn  in  South- 
wark,  eleven  are  connected  in  one  way  or  another  with 
the  ecclesiastical  organization.  Surveying  this  delega- 
tion as  a  whole,  one  is  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  English  Church  had  fallen  on  evil  days  ;  and  this 
conclusion  is  strengthened  by  the  appearance  of  other 
churchmen  quite  as  unworthy  as  these  in  the  tales 
themselves.  Unfortunately,  the  concurrent  testimony 
of  such  diverse  observers  as  Gower,  Langland,  and 
Wiclif  proves  that  Chaucer's  picture  is  not  overdrawn. 
Against  such  a  background  of  corruption  and  unwor- 
thiness,  the  poor  parson  of  a  town  stands  out  with  singu- 
lar beauty,  and  the  sympathetic  portrait  of  him  given 

1  See  the  article  by  Koeppel,  in  Herrig's  Archiv,  86.  44. 

2  Originals  and  Analogues,  437-480. 


THE  PARSON'S  TALE  285 

in  the  General  Prologue  is  justly  regarded  as  one  of 
the  loveliest  bits  of  Chaucer's  poetry. 

Often  enough  on  the  road  to  Canterbury  the  good 
priest  must  have  been  shocked  by  the  words  he  had 
to  hear;  but  he  knew  how  to  keep  his  peace.  He 

*  ne  maked  him  a  spyced  conscience.'    Only  once  does 
he  protest,  when  on  the  second  day  of  the  journey  the 
Host  turns  to  him  and  with  an  oath  demands  a  tale. 
The  Parson's  mild  rebuke  calls  forth  from  the  Host  a 
scornful  answer :  — 

'  I  smelle  a  loller  in  the  wind,'  quod  he. 

'  How  !  good  men,'  quod  our  hoste,  'herkneth  me; 

Abydeth  for  goddes  digue  passioun, 

For  we  shall  ban  a  predicacioun; 

This  loller  beer  wil  precben  us  somwhat.' 

But  the  Shipman,  that  stout  defender  of  the  estab- 
lished faith,  throws  himself  into  the  breach ;  the  dan- 
ger of  a  *  predicacioun '  is  for  the  present  averted ;  and 
the  unpleasantness  blows  over.  Not,  however,  till  all  the 
other  pilgrims  have  told  their  tales,  late  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  last  day's  ride,  does  the  Host  again  make 
requisition  for  the  Parson's  tale.  This  time  the  Par- 
son suffers  his  profanity  to  pass  without  rebuke.  The 
Host's  earlier  fears  of  a  *  predicacioun,'  however,  are 
fully  realized.  The  Parson  will  tell  no  fable,  either  in 
rime  or  alliteration ;  his  tale  is  to  be  *  moralitee  and 
vertuous  matere,' 

To  shewe  yow  the  wey,  in  this  viage, 
Of  tbilke  parfit  glorious  pilgrimage 
That  highte  Jerusalem  celestial. 

The  whole  company  sees  the  appropriatness  of  ending 

*  in  som  vertuous  sentence,'  and  the  Parson  is  given 
free  audience. 

Much  as  we  may  admire  the  beauty  of  the  Parson's 
character  as  parish  priest,  we  are  heartily  glad  that  we 


286      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

do  not  have  to  sit  under  his  preaching  of  a  Sunday.  His 
sermon,  or  meditation,  as  he  calls  it,  is  interminably 
long,  and  for  our  modern  taste  at  least,  intolerably  dull. 
It  is  full  of  excellent  teaching,  often  expressed  in  tren- 
chant language  ;  but  for  effectiveness  as  a  whole,  it  is 
immeasurably  inferior  to  the  brilliant  sermon  of  the 
miserable  Pardoner.  The  theme  of  the  discourse  is  Peni- 
tence ;  but  into  its  midst  is  introduced  a  digression  on 
the  seven  deadly  sins  and  their  remedies,  longer  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  sermon,  which  hopelessly  destroys 
the  unity  and  proportion  of  the  whole. 

Of  the  source  of  the  Parson's  Tale  Professor  Skeat 
says :  *  'It  is  now  known  that  this  Tale  is  little  else 
Sources  than  an  adaptation  (with  alterations,  omis- 
Authen-  sions,  and  additions,  as  usual  with  Chaucer) 
ticity.  of  a  French  treatise  by  Frere  Lorens,  entitled 
La  Somme  des  Vices  et  des  Vertus,  written  in  1279.' 2 
Until  quite  recently  this  statement  was  universally  ac- 
cepted ;  but  we  now  know  that  the  Parson's  Tale  and 
La  Somrne  des  Vices  et  des  Vertus  both  go  back  to  an 
earlier  common  original,  the  Summa  sen  Tractatus  de 
Viciis  of  Guilielmus  Peraldus,  a  Dominican  Friar  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  while  the  main  body  of  the  tale 
which  deals  with  penitence  is  from  the  Summa  Casuum 
PaenitenticB  of  another  Dominican  of  the  same  century, 
Raymund  of  Pennaforte.3  In  just  what  versions  these 
treatises  reached  Chaucer  we  do  not  yet  know ;  but, 

1  Oxford  Chaucer,  3.  502. 

a  In  the  Chaucer  Society's  volume  of  Essays  on  Chaucer,  pp.  503— 
610,  may  be  found  a  minute  comparison  of  the  Parson's  Tale  and  the 
Somme,  by  W.  Eilers. 

8  The  Sources  of  the  Parson's  Tale,  by  Miss  Kate  O.  Petersen,  Rad- 
cliffe  College  Monographs,  12.  Boston,  1901.  Favorably  reviewed  by 
E.  Koeppel,  in  Englische  Studien,  30.  464-467.  Professor  Liddell's  '  A 
New  Source  of  the  Parson's  Tale,'  in  the  Furnivall  Miscellany,  255-277, 
is  no  longer  important. 


THE  PARSON'S  TALE  287 

though  the  Somme  of  Frere  Lorens  may  have  been 
consulted,  it  cannot  have  been  his  direct  or  even  indi- 
rect source.  Nor  do  we  know  whether  the  unfortunate 
piecing  together  of  two  distinct  treatises  is  due  to 
Chaucer,  or  to  his  immediate  original. 

So  inartistic  is  this  combination,  that  many  critics, 
among  them  Ten  Brink,  have  been  unwilling  to  believe 
that  the  tale  as  preserved  to  us  is  Chaucer's  authentic 
work.  The  whole  digression  on  the  seven  deadly  sins, 
and  other  lesser  sections  of  the  work,  they  regard  as 
interpolations  by  another  hand.  But  this  method  of 
higher  criticism,  by  which  everything  offensive  to  the 
aesthetic  taste  of  the  critic  is  conveniently  branded  as 
interpolation,  is  fortunately  going  out  of  fashion  ;  and 
in  this  particular  case  there  is  no  adequate  ground  for 
supposing  that  the  tale  is  not  in  all  essentials  as  Chau- 
cer wrote  it.1 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Host  accused  the 
Parson  of  being  a  '  loller,'  i  e.  a  lollard,  a  follower  of 
Wiclif.  Superficially,  the  portrait  of  the  Parson  in  the 
General  Prologue  suggests  the  '  poor  preachers '  who 
spread  the  reformer's  teachings  through  the  country- 
side ;  and  a  serious  attempt  has  been  made  to  prove 
that  he  was  intended  as  a  Wiclifite,  and  that  Chaucer 
himself  was  in  sympathy  with  the  movement.  Of  course 
the  Parson's  '  meditation,'  with  its  insistence  on  the 
necessity  of  auricular  confession,  is  eminently  orthodox ; 
and  if  we  accept  it  as  genuine,  we  must  at  once  dis- 
miss the  theory  of  his  Wiclifite  sympathies.  Apart 
from  this  objection,  the  theory  never  had  any  adequate 
evidence  in  its  favor.  As  for  the  Host's  playful  charge, 
one  may  readily  enough  answer  that  it  is  quite  in 

1  Professer  Koeppel,  in  Herrig's  Archiv,  87.  33-54,  has  shown  that 
many  quotations  from  the  section  on  the  seven  deadly  sins  occur  in 
Chaucer's  other  works,  just  as  we  find  similar  quotations  from  Boe- 
thius  and  from  the  Tale  ofMelibeus, 


288      THE  POETRY  OF  CHAUCER 

accord  with  Chaucer's  characteristic  humor  to  have  it 
suggested  that  the  one  thoroughly  worthy  ecclesiastic 
in  the  company  is  a  heretic.1 

In  the  last  paragraph  of  the  Parson's  Tale,  under 
the  caption  '  Here  taketh  the  makere  of  this  book  his 
The  Re-  leve,'  is  found  a  strange  and  sad  leave-taking, 
tractation.  jn  wnjcn  the  poet  beseeches  '  mekely  for  the 
mercy  of  god,  that  ye  preye  for  me,  that  Crist  have 
mercy  on  me  and  foryeve  me  my  giltes  :  —  and  namely, 
of  my  translacions  and  endytinges  of  worldly  vanitees, 
the  whiche  I  revoke  in  my  retracciouns :  as  is  the  book 
of  Troilus ;  The  book  also  of  Fame ;  The  book  of  the 
nynetene  Ladies ;  The  book  of  the  Duchesse  ;  The 
book  of  seint  Valentynes  day  of  the  Parlement  of 
Briddes ;  The  tales  of  Caunterbury,  thilke  that  sounen 
into  sinne.'  The  only  works  that  he  does  not  regret 
are  the  translation  of  Boethius,  'and  other  bokes  of 
Legendes  of  seintes,  and  omelies,  and  moralitee,  and 
devocioun.'  All  for  which  we  prize  Chaucer  he  would 
rather  not  have  writ !  We  should  be  glad  to  believe 
that  these  words  are  not  authentic  ;  but,  remembering 
Tolstoi  and  Ruskin,  we  dare  not.  The  sincerity  of  the 
passage  cannot  be  questioned.  We  must  believe  that 
in  the  sadness  of  his  latter  days  the  poet's  conscience 
was  seized  upon  by  the  tenets  of  a  narrow  creed,  which 
in  the  days  of  his  strength  he  had  known  how  to  trans- 
mute into  something  better  and  truer.  But  into  the 
sacredness  of  his  soul  we  had  better  not  pry  too  curi- 
ously. 

*  So  here  is  ended  the  book  of  the  Tales  of  Caunter- 
bury, compiled  by  Geffrey  Chaucer,  of  whos  soule  Jesu 
Crist  have  mercy.  Amen.' 

1  Those  who  wish  to  pursue  this  Wiclifite  theory  may  read  the  essay 
on  '  Chaucer  a  Wicliffite,'  in  Essays  on  Chaucer,  227-292,  by  H.  Simon. 


APPENDIX 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STUDY  OF 
CHAUCER 

THE  first  question  that  presents  itself  to  the  student  of 
Chaucer  is  that  of  editions  of  the  poet's  works.  The  more  ad- 
vanced student  must  have  access  to  Skeat's  edition  in  six 
volumes,1  commonly  known  as  The  Oxford  Chaucer,  pub- 
lished in  1894.  Though  somewhat  deficient  in  scholarly 
method,  this  edition  contains  the  most  satisfactory  text  of 
Chaucer's  works  in  their  entirety  which  has  yet  appeared, 
and  in  notes  and  introductions  a  vast  store  of  valuable  infor- 
mation. The  introductions,  however,  are  already  in  many 
particulars  antiquated.  Skeat's  text,  with  condensed  glossary, 
and  brief  general  introduction,  but  without  explanatory 
notes,  is  also  published  in  a  single  volume,  called  The  Stu- 
dent's Chaucer  (Oxford  University  Press,  1900).  This  is  the 
most  satisfactory  edition  of  Chaucer  now  available  for  the 
average  reader.  It  is,  everything  considered,  preferable  to 
the  Globe  edition,  edited  by  Pollard,  Heath,  Liddell,  and 
McCormick  (Macmillan,  1903).  Professor  F.  N.  Robinson  of 
Harvard  has  now  (1921)  in  preparation  and  nearly  completed 
a  single  volume  edition  of  Chaucer  to  be  published  in  the 
Cambridge  Poets  Series  (Houghton  Mifflin  Company), 
which  will  undoubtedly  supersede  both  the  Globe  edition  and 
the  Student's  Chaucer  of  Skeat.  The  older  editions  of  Chaucer 
have  no  value  save  to  the  book-collector  or  the  special  student 
of  textual  criticism,  and  should  be  avoided. 

For  the  student  of  Chaucer's  language  and  verse  the  stand- 
ard work  is  Ten  Brink's  The  Language  and  Metre  of  Chaucer 
(English  translation  of  the  second  German  edition  by  M. 

1  A  seventh  volume  contains  all  the  pieces  which  have  in  the  past 
been  erroneously  included  among  Chaucer's  works. 


292  APPENDIX 

Bentinck  Smith,  Macmillan,  1901). l  The  less  advanced  stu- 
dent will  find  all  that  he  needs  clearly  presented  in  Pro- 
fessor Samuel  Moore's  Historical  Outlines  of  English  Philol- 
ogy and  Middle  English  Grammar  (George  Wahr,  Ann  Arbor, 
Michigan,  1919).  This  small  volume  contains  an  excellent 
account  of  Chaucerian  pronunciation,  with  phonetic  tran- 
scriptions. The  best  existing  glossary  is  that  in  the  Oxford 
Chaucer.  Under  the  auspices  of  the  Carnegie  Institution, 
Professor  J.  S.  P.  Tatlock  of  Leland  Stanford  University  is 
now  completing  a  concordance  to  Chaucer  originally  under- 
taken by  the  late  Professor  Fliigel.  This  work,  when  pub- 
lished, will  be  indispensable  to  serious  students. 

For  the  lif e  of  Chaucer,  about  which  we  have  but  few  signi- 
ficant details,  the  student  may  best  use  the  article  by  J.  W. 
Hales  in  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  The  fullest 
presentation  of  the  little  we  know  is  given  in  the  Chaucer 
Society  volume  of  Life  Records  of  Chaucer  (1900).  Interesting 
light  is  thrown  on  one  phase  of  the  poet's  career  in  Dr.  J.  R. 
Hulbert's  University  of  Chicago  dissertation,  Chaucer's  Offi- 
cial Life  (1912).  The  most  comprehensive  study  of  the  chro- 
nology of  the  poet's  literary  career  is  Professor  Tatlock's 
Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Development  and  Chronology  of 
Chaucer's  Works  (1907).  The  author's  conclusions  have  not, 
however,  been  accepted  in  their  entirety  by  other  scholars. 
Miss  Caroline  F.  E.  Spurgeon's  Chaucer  Society  volumes,  Five 
Hundred  Years  of  Chaucer  Criticism  and  Allusion  (1914  and 
1918),  and  her  earlier  book,  Chaucer  devant  la  Critique  en 
Angleterre  et  en  France  (Paris,  1911),  form  the  starting-point 
for  any  study  of  Chaucer's  influence  on  later  literature. 

The  great  mass  of  Chaucerian  scholarship  is  contained  in  the 
voluminous  publications  of  the  Chaucer  Society  (London), 
in  the  various  scholarly  journals,  English,  American,  and 
German,  and  in  various  university  series  of  doctoral  disserta- 
tions. This  material  has  been  made  accessible  by  the  admir- 

1  A  third  edition  of  the  German  work,  revised  by  Eduard  Eckhardt 
has  just  appeared  (Leipzig,  Tauchnitz,  1920).  The  advanced  student 
will  also  consult  Die  Sprachlichen  Eigentilmlichkeiten  der  wicMigeren 
Chaucer-Handschriften  und  die  Sprache  Chaucers,  by  Dr.  Friedrich 
Wild  (Wiener  Beilrage,  xliv,  Vienna  and  Leipzig,  1915). 


APPENDIX  293 

able  bibliography  compiled  by  Miss  E.  P.  Hammond,  Chaucer, 
a  Bibliographical  Manual  (Macmillan,  1908).  This  volume  is 
indispensable  to  advanced  students.  It  is  supplemented,  par- 
ticularly in  the  case  of  matter  published  since  1907,  by  Pro- 
fessor J.  E.  Wells's  Manual  of  the  Writings  in  Middle  English 
(Yale  University  Press,  1916),  and  the  'First  Supplement'  to 
this  work  (1919). 

Among  more  popular  discussions  of  Chaucer  and  his  poetry 
may  be  mentioned  the  study  by  Professor  E.  Legouis  of  the 
Sorbonne,  Geojfroy  Chaucer  (Paris,  1910;  English  translation, 
London  and  New  York,  1913),  and  Professor  Kittredge's  de- 
lightful and  illuminating  volume  of  lectures  entitled  Chaucer 
and  his  Poetry  (Harvard  University  Press,  1915).  Mr.  G.  G. 
Coulton's  Chaucer  and  his  England  (Putnam's,  1908)  contains 
interesting  matter  on  the  daily  life  of  Chaucer's  England.  Pro- 
fessor T.  R.  Lounsbury's  three  volumes  of  Studies  in  Chaucer 
(Harper's,  1892)  and  the  pages  devoted  to  Chaucer  in  Ten 
Brink's  History  of  English  Literature,  Vol.  ii,  Part  I,  (Holt, 
1893),  contain  much  that  is  still  of  value. 


NOTES  AND  REVISIONS 

(!N  this  appendix  will  be  found  references  to  important  books 
and  articles  which  have  been  published  since  the  first  edition 
of  this  book  appeared  in  1906,  and  a  few  corrections  and  addi- 
tions to  its  text,  which  could  not  conveniently  be  incorporated 
in  the  body  of  the  volume.  It  is  not  intended  that  the  bibliog- 
raphy of  recent  books  and  articles  should  be  complete.  For 
example,  no  notice  is  taken  of  such  unfounded  conjectures  as 
those  contained  in  Mr.  Victor  Langhans's  extensive  volume, 
Untersuchungen  zu  Chaucer,  Halle,  1918.) 

Page  59.  Professor  W.  O.  Sypherd  has  pointed  out  interest- 
ing similarities  between  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  and  the  anony- 
mous fourteenth-century  French  poem,  Le  Songe  Vert: 
Modern  Language  Notes,  24.  46-47  (1909).  See  also  Professor 
Kittredge's  article  on  '  Guillaume  de  Machaut  and  the  Book 
of  the  Duchess,'  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Associa- 
tion, 30.  1-24  (1915). 

Page  64.  It  was  formerly  believed  that  the  two  eagles  'of 
lower  kinde'  in  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  stood  for  William  of 
Bavaria  and  Frederick  of  Meissen;  but  Professor  O.  F.  Emer- 
son, Modern  Philology,  8.  45-62  (1910),  and  Professor  Samuel 
Moore,  Modern  Language  Notes,  26.  8-12  (1911),  have  shown 
that  it  is  more  probable  that  the  third  eagle  represents 
Charles  VI  of  France,  and  the  second,  Frederick  of  Meissen. 
In  1913  Professor  J.  M.  Manly,  Studien  zur  englischen  Philolo- 
gie,  ed.  Morsbach,  50.  279-290,  argued  that  the  poem  is  merely 
a  variation  of  the  conventional  demande  d' amours,  where  a 
hypothetical  case  of  love-casuistry  is  propounded  and  left  for 
solution  to  the  wits  of  readers  or  auditors.  He  declines  to  see 
in  it  any  allusion  to  the  marriage  of  Richard  and  Anne,  or  to 
admit  the  necessity  of  any  personal  allegory.  In  the  following 
year  Professor  Emerson,  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic 
Philology,  13.  566-582,  replied  with  new  evidence  in  support 


APPENDIX  295 

of  his  position.  In  1920  Miss  Edith  Rickert,  Modern  Philol- 
ogy, 18.  1-29,  argued  that  the  demande  d 'amours  of  Chaucer's 
poem  was  intended  to  compliment  not  Queen  Anne,  but  the 
Lady  Philippa  of  Lancaster,  eldest  daughter  of  John  of  Gaunt. 
In  this  interpretation  the  three  suitor  eagles  become  the  lady's 
cousin,  King  Richard  II,  whom,  as  Froissart  declares,  Duke 
John  wished  to  annex  as  son-in-law,  William  of  Bavaria,  and 
John  of  Blois,  all  of  whom  were  possible  suitors  for  the  lady  in 
the  year  1381. 

The  arguments  are  too  complex  for  summary  and  criticism 
here.  The  present  writer  can  only  state  his  opinion  that  the 
demande  d' amours  of  the  Parliament  of  Fowls  seems  clearly 
intended  as  an  allegory  of  some  actual  courtship,  and  that 
Miss  Rickert's  interpretation  involves  more  serious  inconsis- 
tencies than  those  which  she  and  Professor  Manly  have 
pointed  out  in  the  theory  which  identifies  the  'formel  egle' 
with  the  Lady  Anne  of  Bohemia. 

Page  66,  line  1.  The  present  writer  now  believes  that  the 
composition  of  the  Knight's  Tale  falls  two  or  three  years  later 
than  that  of  the  Parliament  of  Fowls.  Cf.  p.  168. 

Page  66,  line  8.  The  De  Planctu  Naturae  may  be  read  in  the 
English  translation  of  D.  M.  Moffat,  Yale  Studies  in  English, 
vol.  36  (1908). 

Page  68.  Dr.  Edgar  F.  Shannon,  Publications  of  the  Modern 
Language  Association,  27.  461-485  (1912),  has  pointed  out  re- 
semblances of  a  general  character  between  Anelida  and 
Arcite  and  the  Heroides  of  Ovid.  In  the  same  article  he  has 
shown  that  the  Amores  of  Ovid  were  sometimes  referred  to  by 
mediaeval  scholars  under  the  title  'Corinna'  —  the  name  of 
Ovid's  mistress  in  whose  honor  they  are  written.  He  suggests 
that  this  is  the  explanation  of  Chaucer's  mysterious  '  Corinne.* 
Unfortunately,  Dr.  Shannon  has  been  able  to  find  but  one 
possible  parallel  between  Anelida  and  the  Amores,  and  that  of 
a  sort  that  might  easily  be  fortuitous. 

In  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  86.  186— 
222  (1921),  Professor  Frederick  Tupper  has  argued  that  the 
story  of  Anelida  and  Arcite  was  intended  to  shadow  forth  the 
events  of  an  unhappy  marriage  in  one  of  the  noble  families  of 


296  APPENDIX 

Ireland.  Anelida,  the  'quene  of  Ermony,'  he  identifies  with  the 
young  countess  of  Ormonde.  The  name  Ormonde  was  com- 
monly represented  in  contemporary  Latin  charters  as  'Ermonie ' ; 
and  the  maiden  name  of  the  countess  was  Anne  Welle,  while  her 
husband,  the  earl,  was  on  his  mother's  side  a  d'Arcy.  The  re- 
semblance of  these  names  to  Anelida  and  Arcite,  when  taken 
in  conjunction  with  the  equivalence  of  Ormonde  and  Ermony, 
constitutes  a  considerable  presumption  in  favor  of  Tupper's 
theory;  but  there  is  no  positive  evidence  in  its  support.  The 
only  reason  for  believing  that  the  marriage  hi  question  was 
an  unhappy  one  is  the  existence  of  two  illegitimate  sons  of 
the  Earl  of  Ormonde,  who  may  perfectly  well  have  antedated 
his  marriage  to  Anne  Welle.  In  the  poem,  moreover,  Arcite's 
new  love  never  granted  him  any  grace  (lines  188,  189).  Pro- 
fessor Tupper  suggests  a  number  of  further  identifications, 
such  as  that  of  Theseus  with  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence,  which 
are  much  less  plausible. 

Miss  M.  Fabin,  Modern  Language  Notes,  34.  266-272, 
argues  that  Anelida  is  indebted  to  Le  Lai  de  la  Sousde  of 
Machaut. 

Page  69,  line  7.  Cf.  note  on  page  6,  line  1,  above. 

Page  69,  line  24.  For  a  further  account  of  the  troubles  of 
the  mediaeval  author  with  his  copyists,  see  the  article  by  R.  K. 
Root,  'Publication  before  Printing,'  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  28.  417-431  (1913).  See  also 
E.  P.  KuhPs  'A  Note  on  Chaucer's  Adam,'  Modern  Lan- 
guage Notes,  29.  263-264  (1914). 

Page  72,  line  13.  See  the  article  by  J.  L.  Lowes,  'The 
Chaucerian  "Merciles  Beaute"  and  three  poems  of  Des- 
champs's,'  Modern  Language  Review,  5.  33-39  (1910). 

Page  73.  We  now  know,  thanks  to  the  brilliant  discovery  of 
Miss  Edith  Rickert,  Modern  Philology,  11.  209-225  (1913), 
that  the  balade,  Truth,  is  addressed  to  Chaucer's  friend,  Sir 
Philip  la  Vache.  The  word  'vache'  in  the  envoy  should, 
therefore,  be  printed  with  a  capital  V.  La  Vache  was  son-in- 
law  to  Chaucer's  friend,  Sir  Lewis  Clifford.  Miss  Rickert  has 
recorded  the  main  facts  of  his  career. 

Page  76.  In  Modern  Language  Notes,  27.  45-48  (1912), 


APPENDIX  297 

Professor  J.  L.  Lowes  discusses  the  reference  in  the  Envoy  to 
Bukton  to  captivity  in  Frisia,  and  suggests  that  the  poem 
might  have  been  written  at  any  time  between  1393  and  1396. 
Professor  Kittredge,  Modern  Language  Notes,  24. 14-15  (1909) 
cites  from  Deschamps  some  interesting  parallels  in  dispraise 
of  marriage. 

Page  86.  Professor  Kittredge  has  suggested,  Modern  Phi- 
lology, 14.  129-134  (1917),  that  'litel  Lowis'  may  have  been 
the  son  of  Chaucer's  friend,  Sir  Lewis  Clifford,  and  the  'son* 
of  the  poet  only  by  affectionate  adoption. 

Page  151.  The  closest  parallel  to  the  framework  of  the 
Canterbury  Tales  is  furnished  by  the  prose  Novelle  of  Giovanni 
Sercambi  of  Lucca  written  some  time  later  than  1374.  In  this 
collection,  the  tales,  though  narrated  by  a  single  speaker,  are 
addressed  to  a  group  of  travelers  on  a  journey  through  Italy. 
Brief  interludes  describe  the  doings  of  the  company  on  the  way. 
There  is  a  'president'  who  exercises  a  function  somewhat  anal- 
ogous to  that  of  Chaucer's  Host.  It  is  possible  that  Chaucer 
may  have  known  Sercambi's  work;  but  his  debt  to  it,  if  any,  is 
of  a  very  general  nature.  He  does  not  seem  to  have  utilized 
any  of  the  individual  tales  of  the  collection.  The  Novelle  have 
survived  only  in  a  single  manuscript,  which  has  never  been 
printed  in  its  entirety.  The  best  discussion  of  the  matter  is 
Professor  Karl  Young's  essay,  'The  Plan  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales,'  Kittredge  Anniversary  Papers,  pp.  405-417  (1913). 
The  first  scholar  to  call  attention  to  the  parallel  was  H.  B. 
Hinckley  in  his  Notes  on  Chaucer  (Northampton,  Mass., 
1907). 

Page  152.  The  student  who  wishes  to  venture  into  the 
tangled  problem  of  the  order  of  the  groups  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales  will  do  well  to  begin  with  Miss  E.  P.  Hammond's  dis- 
cussion, Chaucer,  a  Bibliographical  Manual,  pp.  158-172, 
241-264.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  unity  of  Group  B, 
as  adopted  by  Furnivall  for  the  Chaucer  Society  and  observed 
in  modern  editions,  rests  on  the  authority  of  a  single  and  other- 
wise unreliable  manuscript.  This  manuscript  (Selden  B  14  of 
the  Bodleian  Library)  is  the  only  one  which  reads  'Shipman' 
in  line  B  1179.  Instead,  we  find  the  word  'Squier'  in  all  but 


298  APPENDIX 

one  of  the  remaining  manuscripts  which  contain  this  link;  in 
that  the  word  'Sompnour'  is  substituted.  The  Selden  manu- 
script is  the  only  one  in  which  the  Shipman's  Tale  follows  im- 
mediately the  Man  of  Law's  Tale.  In  the  remaining  manu- 
scripts the  Man  of  Law  is  followed  by  the  Squire  or  by  the 
Wife  of  Bath.  The  link  which  in  Skeat's  edition  is  called  the 
'Shipman's  Prologue'  should  instead  be  called  the  'Man  of 
Law's  Epilogue.'  Scholars  to-day  consider  the  Man  of  Law's 
Tale  with  its  introductory  lines  and  this  epilogue  as  one  group, 
which  they  designate  as  B  \  The  group  which  begins  with  the 
Shipman's  Tale  and  ends  with  the  Nun's  Priest's  epilogue  is 
designated  B2. 

The  position  assigned  by  Furnivall  to  C  immediately  after 
B2  is  entirely  arbitrary.  In  all  existing  manuscripts  except 
Selden  B  14,  where  it  is  found  between  G  and  H,  it  immedi- 
ately precedes  B2.  Professor  Samuel  Moore,  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  30. 116-123  (1915),  has  accord- 
ingly argued  that  the  proper  order  is  A,  B1,  C,  B2,  D,  etc. 
This  seems  more  probable  than  the  order  A,  C,  B1,  B2,  D, 
urged  by  G.  Shipley  in  Modern  Language  Notes,  10.  260-279 
(1895). 

When  Chaucer  died,  the  Canterbury  Tales  were  still  un- 
finished. It  seems  clear  that  the  pile  of  manuscript  which  he 
left  gave  no  certain  indication  of  the  order  in  which  he  in- 
tended to  incorporate  the  various  fragments  into  a  unified 
whole.  Perhaps  he  himself  had  had  no  settled  intention  in  the 
matter.  Various  scribes  tried  in  various  ways  to  arrange  the 
sequence;  and  the  result  was  the  discord  which  now  exists  in 
the  surviving  manuscripts.  The  modern  editor  must  similarly 
do  the  best  he  can  to  arrive  at  an  arrangement  which,  if  not 
Chaucer's  own,  shall  in  its  avoidance  of  inconsistencies  be  one 
which  Chaucer  might  have  approved.  He  will  consider  pri- 
marily the  geographical  allusions  in  the  various  fragments 
and  the  references  from  one  fragment  to  another,  and  will 
consider  only  secondarily  the  order  presented  in  the  existing 
manuscripts.  From  this  point  of  view  the  order  devised  by 
Furnivall  and  adopted  by  Skeat  in  his  edition  remains  a 
reasonably  satisfactory  solution;  even  though  we  grant,  as 


APPENDIX  299 

seems  probable,  that  Chaucer  had  no  hand  in  the  linking  to- 
gether of  B1  and  B2,  and  that  he  thought  of  C  as  preceding  B2. 

Skeat's  Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Evolution  of  the 
Canterbury  Tales  (1907),  confuses  rather  than  clarifies  the 
problem. 

Page  173.  See  the  discussion  of  the  Miller  and  the  Reeve  by 
Dr.  W.  C.  Curry,  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Associ- 
ation, 35.  189-209  (1920). 

Page  175.  For  a  parallel  to  Chaucer's  apology  for  his  inde- 
cent tales,  see  the  article  by  R.  K.  Root,  'Chaucer  and  the 
Decameron,'  Englische  Studien,  44.  1-7  (1911). 

Page  191.  For  a  full  and  very  interesting  discussion  of  the 
Prioress's  Tale  and  of  the  various  versions  of  the  story  in 
mediaeval  literature,  see  Professor  Carleton  Brown's  Chaucer 
Society  volume,  A  Study  of  the  Miracle  of  Our  Lady  told  by 
Chaucer's  Prioress  (1910). 

Page  223.  See  Dr.  W.  C.  Curry's  interesting  article,  'The 
Secret  of  Chaucer's  Pardoner,'  Journal  of  English  and  Ger- 
manic Philology,  18.  593-606  (1919). 

Page  253.  On  the  Clerk  of  Oxford,  see  the  article  by  Profes- 
sor H.  S.  V.  Jones  in  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  As- 
sociation, 27.  106-115  (1912). 

Page  255.  Dr.  W.  E.  Farnham  has  argued,  Modern  Lan- 
guage Notes,  33.  193-203  (1913),  that  Chaucer  had  access  to 
the  Italian  version  of  Griselda  as  well  as  to  Petrarch's  Latin. 
Professor  Cook  has  suggested,  Romanic  Review,  8.  210  (1917), 
that  Chaucer  consulted  a  French  translation  of  Boccac- 
cio's tale.  • 

Page  270.  A  little  further  light  has  been  thrown  on  the 
sources  of  the  Squire's  Tale  by  Professor  H.  S.  V.  Jones  in 
Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  20.  346-359 
(1905),  and  by  Professor  J.  L.  Lowes  in  Washington  Univer- 
sity Studies,  Vol.  I,  Part  II,  pp.  3-18  (St.  Louis,  1913). 

Page  273.  The  fidelity  of  the  Franklin's  Tale  to  its  Breton 
setting  is  admirably  discussed  by  Professor  J.  S.  P.  Tatlock  in 
his  Chaucer  Society  volume,  The  Scene  of  the  Franklin's  Tale 
Visited  (1914).  Mr.  Tatlock  believes  that  Chaucer  has  with 
deliberate  art  given  to  a  story  derived  from  other  sources  — 


300  APPENDIX 

including  the  Filocolo  of  Boccaccio  —  the  character  of  a 
Breton  lay.  See  also  the  article  by  J.  L.  Lowes,  '  The  Frank- 
lin's Tale,  the  Teseide,  and  the  Filocolo,'  Modern  Philology, 
15.  689-728  (1918).  Professor  Lowes  has  shown  conclusively 
that  in  numerous  passages  of  the  Franklin's  Tale  Chaucer  has 
drawn  on  the  Teseide  of  Boccaccio.  He  argues  also  for  Chau- 
cer's debt  to  the  Filocolo.  In  spite  of  important  differences, 
the  Franklin's  Tale  is  closer  to  the  version  in  the  Filocolo  than 
to  any  other  known  version  of  the  story;  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  Chaucer  may  not  have  known  this  work  of 
Boccaccio.  The  facts  can,  however,  be  equally  well  ex- 
plained on  the  assumption  of  a  lost  fabliau  which  was  the 
ultimate  common  source  of  the  Italian  and  the  English  tales. 

See  also  Professor  Tatlock's  article,  'Astrology  and  Magic  in 
Chaucer's  Franklin's  Tale,'  Kittredge  Anniversary  Papers,  pp. 
339-350  (Boston,  1913),  and  Professor  W.  M.  Hart's  essay  on 
the  narrative  art  of  the  Franklin's  Tale  and  its  relation  to  the 
Breton  lay  in  Haverford  Essays,  pp.  185-234  (Haverford,  Pa., 
1909). 

Page  277.  The  student  who  wishes  to  understand  the  type 
of  composition,  of  which  the  Second  Nun's  legend  of  St. 
Cecilia  is  an  example,  should  consult  Professor  G.  H.  Gerould's 
scholarly  book,  Saints'  Legends  (Boston  and  New  York,  1916). 
The  Second  Nun's  Tale  is  discussed  on  pages  239-244.  See 
also  Professor  Carleton  Brown's  'The  Prologue  of  Chaucer's 
"Lyf  of  Seint  Cecile,"  '  Modern  Philology,  9.  1-16  (1911),  and 
the  papers  by  Professor  J.  L.  Lowes  in  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  26.  315-323  (1911)  and  29. 
129-133  (1914). 

Page  288.  See  the  article  on  'Chaucer's  Retractations,'  by 
Professor  J.  S.  P.  Tatlock,  in  Publications  of  the  Modern 
Language  Association,  28.  521-529  (1913). 


INDEX 


INDEX 


A.  B.  C.,  57,  58,  207. 

Adam.  Words  unto,  69,  70,  84, 
297. 

Against  Women  Unconstant,  78. 

Alarms  de  Insulis,  66,  129,  296. 

Albertano  of  Brescia,  203,  284. 

Alcestis,  140-144. 

Alchemy,  23,  25,  281-283. 

Alma  Redemptoris,  198. 

Alphonsus  of  Lincoln,  194-196. 

Amorous  Complaint,  79. 

Andreas  Capellanus,  103. 

Andida  and  Arcite,  68,  69,  296, 
297. 

Anne,  Queen  of  England,  63,  64, 
89,  141-144,  167,  295,  296. 

Arabian  Nights,  151,  269,  270. 

Astrolabe,  23,  85,  86,  298. 

Astrology,  Chaucer's  attitude  to- 
wards, 22,  24. 

Astronomy,  Chaucer's  interest 
in,  22. 

Balade  of  Complaint,  79. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  274. 

Benoit  de  Sainte-More,  94-96,  97, 
100. 

Beovmlf,  80. 

Beryn,  Tale  of,  158,  159. 

Boccaccio,  17,  18,  20,  21,  32,  65, 
68,  88,  90,  96-98, 103, 125, 136, 
137,  142,  152,  163,  168,  175, 
188,  205,  207,  228,  243.  254, 
255,  263,  274,  300,  301. 

Boethius,  17,  19,  46,  70.  71,  73, 
74,  75,  80-85,  90,  117, 125, 127, 
168,  207. 

Book  of  the  Duchess,  15, 18, 37,  38, 
58,  59-63,  66,  68,  295. 

Bukton,  76,  77,  298. 


Canon's  Yeoman's  Tale,  23,  280- 

283. 
Canterbury  Tales,  18,  135,  151- 

160,  298-300. 

Cento  Novelle  Antiche,  225-227. 
Chretien  de  Troyes,  102. 
Christianity,  Chaucer's  attitude 

towards,  26. 
Chronology  of  Chaucer's  writings, 

15-19,  292. 
Cicero,  65,  129. 
Claudian,  65. 
Clerk's  Tale,  37,  148,  239,  253- 

262,  300. 

Clifford,  Sir  Lewis,  138,  298. 
Coleridge,  268. 
Complaint  of  Mars,  63,  77. 
Complaint  of  Venus,  77. 
Complaint,  to  his  Empty  Purse,  78. 
Complaint  to  his  Lady,  68. 
Complaint  to  Pity,  58.  59. 
Cook's  Tale,  179,  180. 
'Corinne,'  68,  69,  296. 
Courtly  love,  102-105,  112,  115- 

117,  120. 
Criseyde,  105-114, 187. 

Dante,  3,  4,  17,  85,  65,  68,  104, 

129,  207,  243,  278. 
Dares  Phrygius,  93-95, 100, 101. 
Decameron,   152,   175,   188,  228, 

254,  263,  274,  300. 
Deschamps,  138,  139,  141,  144, 

239,  298. 
Dictys  Cretensis,  91-93,  95,  100, 

101. 

Diomede,  113,  114. 
Dramatic  power  of  Chaucer,  38, 

122,  123. 
Dryden,  100  n,  173. 


304 


INDEX 


Envoy  to  Bukton,  76,  77. 
Envoy  to  Scogan,  75,  76. 

Faerie  Queene,  35,  207. 

Filocolo,  99,  274,  301. 

Filostrato,  96-100,  123,  142. 

Fletcher,  172,  173,  274. 

Florus,  136. 

Former  Age,  38,  70,  71,  84. 

Fortune,  71,  84. 

Franklin's  Tale,  24,  42,  148,  239, 

271-277,  300,  301. 
Friar,  48. 

Friar's  Tale,  244-249. 
Froissart,  64,  76,  129,  138,  139. 

Gautier  de  Coincy,  194. 

Gentilesse,  25,  38,  74,  243. 

Gentilesse,  240  n,  243. 

Golden  Legend,  278. 

Gower,  11,  13,  26,  33,  88,  124, 

137,  151,  183,  184,  240,  284. 
Graunsoun,  Otes  de,  77. 
Groups  of  Canterbury  Tales,  152- 

154,  298-300. 
Guido  delle  Colonne,  94-96,  100, 

101,  137,  207. 
Guilielmus  Peraldus,  286. 
Guillaume  de  Deguilleville,  57. 
Guillaume  de  Lorris,  16,  45-50. 
Guillaume  de  Machaut,  60,  61, 

78.  138,  295,  297. 

Herolt,  John,  246,  247. 
Homer,  91,  93,  95,  101. 
Horace,  101. 
House  of  Fame,  18,  23, 30,  37. 101, 

128-134,  140. 
Hugh  of  Lincoln,  193. 
Humor  of  Chaucer,  39. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  267. 
Hyginus,  137. 

Irony,  40.  99,  118.  121,  227. 


Jacobus  a  Voragine,  278. 

Jakes  de  Basiu,  250. 

Jean  de  Meun,  16,  20  46-50,  81, 

84,  220,  232. 
Jerome,  St.,  232. 
Jews,  mediaeval  attitude  toward' 

191-194. 

John  of  Gaunt,  59,  63. 
Joseph  of  Exeter,  100. ; 

Keats,  268,  269. 

Kipling,  225. 

Knight's  Tale,  18,  23,  24,  27,  36. 

37,  39,  42,  66.  69, 150, 163-173, 

269,  296. 

Lack  of  Steadfastness,  74,  75. 

Langland,  11,  12,  26,  163. 

La  Vache,  Sir  Philip,  297. 

Legenda  Aurea,  278. 

Legend  of  Cleopatra,  150. 

Legend  of  Dido,  25,  150. 

Legend  of  Good  Women,  18,  26,  84, 

135-150,  151,  182,  219.  . 
Legend  of  Thisbe,  150. 
Le  Songe  Vert,  295. 
Livy,  137,  220. 
'Lollius,'  100-102. 
Lorens,  Frere,  286,  287. 
Lowell,  37,  62,  251. 
Lydgate,  141.  206. 

Machaut,  60,  61,  78,  138,  295. 

297. 

Macrobius,  65,  129. 
Manciple's  Tale,  283,  284. 
Man  of  Law's  Tale,  38,  148,  181- 

187,  238. 
Marco  Polo,  270. 
Marie  de  Champagne,  103. 
Marie  de  France,  102,  210,  273. 
Marriage,  77,  102,  103,  233-236, 

238-240,  263,  275,  298. 
Martianus  Capella,  129. 
Massuccio  di  Salerno,  174. 


INDEX 


305 


Medievalism  and  the  Renais- 
sance, 3-7. 

Melibeus,  Tale  of,  203. 

Merchant's  Tale,  239,  262-266. 

Merciless  Beauty,  72,  297. 

Messahala,  86. 

Miller,  300. 

Millers  Tale,  36,  39,  173-179. 

Milton,  266,  267,  269. 

Monk's  Tale,  18,  33,  151,  203- 
207. 

Narrative  art,  121-123, 177-179. 
Nature,  Chaucer's  love  of,  147- 

149. 
Nun's  Priest's  Tale,  89,  68,  207- 

218. 

Originality  of  Chaucer,  21. 
Orosius,  136. 
Otes  de  Graunsoun,  77. 
Ovid,  20,  61,  97,  127,  129,  136, 
137,  207,  284,  296. 


'Palamon  and  Arcite,'  167,  168. 

Pandarus,  118-121. 

Papacy,  England  and  the,  9-11. 

Pardoner,  20,  48,  223,  224,  300. 

Pardoner's  Tale,  36,  40,  222-231. 

Parliament  of  Fowls,  18,  39,  63- 
68,  72,  140,  168,  295,  296. 

Parson's  Tale,  284-288. 

Pathos  of  Chaucer,  40. 

Pearl,  12. 

Peasant's  Revolt,  31,  167. 

Petrarch,  17.  42,  69, 129, 132,  243, 
254,  255,  259;  supposed  meet- 
ing with  Chaucer,  255-257. 

Physician's  Tale,  219-222. 

Pindarus  Thebanus,  91. 

Plutarch,  136. 

Pope,  127,  264. 

Predestination,  24,  90,  117.  125, 
126,  218. 

Prioress,  161,  190,  191. 


Prioress's  Tale,  38,  39,  190-198. 

300. 

Proces  of  the  Sevyn  Sages,  152. 
Prologue,  27,  145,  160-163. 
Protestantism,  5. 
Proverbs,  78. 

Radicalism  of  Chaucer,  25. 

Realism,  140,  168  n. 

Reeve,  300. 

Reeve's  Tale,  39,  173-179. 

Reinecke  Fuchs,  211,  212, 

Rembrandt,  160. 

Renaissance  contrasted  with  Me- 

diaevalism,  3-7. 
Retractation,  288,  301. 
Reynard  the  Fox,  210. 
Roman  de  Renart,  211,  212, 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  45-51,  59,  80, 

102,    129,   137,    140,   220-222, 

232,  243. 

Roman  de  Troie,  94-97. 
Romans  des  Sept  Sages,  284. 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  15,  45-56, 

65. 

Romulus,  210. 
Rosemound,  To,  72,  73. 

St.  Cecilia,  277-280. 

Second  Nun's  Tale,  18,  277-280, 

301. 

Scholarship  of  Chaucer,  32. 
Scogan,  76. 
Sercambi,  298. 
Shakespeare,  4,  97,  99,  100. 
Shipman's    Tale,    187-190,    238, 

299. 

Simeon  Metaphrastes,  279. 
Sir  Gawayne,  12. 
Sir  Tho-pas,  30,  34,  39,  199-203. 
Skepticism  of  Chaucer,  24. 
Socrates,  192. 

Somnium  Scipionis,  65,  66,  129. 
Spenser,  242,  267. 
Squire's  Tale,  266-270,  300. 


306 


INDEX 


Statius,  68,  106, 168. 
Strode,  124. 
Style  of  Chaucer,  41. 
Summoner's   Tale,  23,  89,  249- 
252. 

Testide,  65,  68,  69,  90,  125, 163- 

166,  301. 

Theophrastus,  232. 
Thomas  of  Monmouth,  193. 
Tragedy.  40,  125,  205. 
Trivet,  Nicholas,  85,  182-184. 
Troilus,  115-118. 
Troilus  and  Criseyde,  17,  18,  38, 

40,  56,  84,  87-127,  168. 
Troy  Story,  90-97. 
Truth,  29,  30,  38,  73,  74,  84,  297. 
Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  172, 173. 


Usk,  Thomas,  90. 

Valerius,  233. 

Versification  of  Chaucer,  34. 

Virgil,  129,  131,  133. 

Warton,  267,  269. 

Whitfield,  231. 

Wiclif,  13,  287. 

Wife  of  Bath,  20,  48,  161,  235- 

238. 

Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue,  231-238. 
Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  25,  39,  74, 

238-244. 

William  of  Norwich,  192,  193. 
Womanly  Noblesse,  79. 
Words  unto  Adam,  69,  70,  84, 

297. 


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